Scion: The Last Aeromancer
by The Great Khan
Summary: Imagine if Avatar were a Western fantasy instead of an Eastern one. Join Brishen the Scion, Celia, and Jack as they face the forces of the Fire Lord, including the nefarious Count Hector and the exiled Prince Diego. Please read and review!
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

"_Twas a cent'ry ago_

_When the winds did blow_

_And the Wind Folk roamed_

_Hither, to, and fro._

_And the world was still_

_Like a glassy rill_

_Til the day that the skies grew dark._

_The Scion did fall_

_And the horns did call_

_And they cried their grief_

_To the mountain halls_

_Of the King of Earth_

_And the Water Tribe's berth_

_But 'twas Fire who would leave his mark._

_And the Fire Lord_

_He unleashed his horde_

_And the world was aflame_

_And the dragons roared_

_And the Wind Folk fought_

_And allies they sought_

_But they found none who would come._

_So the Wind Folk died_

_And the world cried_

_For she'd lost a child_

_To the burning tide_

_And three peoples remained_

_And the ground was stained_

_With the blood of many brave ones._

_But there is one hope still_

_If we have the will_

_To believe the Scion_

_Will return, so until_

_He delivers us all_

_From our pain, stand tall_

_And fight the good fight for the Scion!_"

Celia's voice seemed to echo in the chilly night, and even as her voice finished singing the last words her fingers continued to dance across the strings of her lute, weaving an intricate series of harmonies that swam into the ears of every listener. After a moment, her lute finally fell silent as well, the strings still ringing softly. There was a moment of spellbound silence, immediately followed by crushing, enthusiastic applause. Celia felt blood run to her face as she smiled and took a polite bow, before looking back to her audience. The age disparity was obvious-everyone was either under the age of twelve, or over the age of fifty. Despite the warmth she felt in the moment, she felt a small pang of sadness as her brilliant blue eyes scanned what was left of her tribe. _So many brave men and women, gone_…she thought forlornly. The applause died down, and Wesley, the eldest man in the village, tapped his walking stick on the ground to attract her attention.

"That was a lovely song, Celia," he said warmly. "Is it new?" Celia smiled gratefully that someone was paying such close attention to her work.

"Yes," she said proudly. "I call it, 'The Ballad of the Scion and the Fire Lord,' and it's not finished yet." The old man scratched his bald head for a moment.

"Why haven't you finished it yet?" he asked politely. Celia smiled even more enigmatically, and strummed a soft chord on her lute.

"I'll write the rest of it when I meet him," she said confidently. Many other villagers offered their own praises for the song, and after a few more minutes the entire crowd dispersed. It was getting late in the evening, and both the young children and old men and women were getting tired. Soon enough, Celia stood in the middle of her tiny village, alone and clutching her lute. It wasn't for too long, though; she could hear the sound of boots scraping along the ground behind her. She turned around to see her older brother, Jack, striding toward her, his bow slung nonchalantly across his shoulders.

"Did you perform it for the whole village?" Jack asked as he approached her. Celia nodded.

"I did."

"Oh? What'd people think of it?"

"They liked it well enough," Celia began airily. "I bet it would have been even better, though," she added pointedly, "if you'd been there to hear it." Jack waved her comment aside.

"I've heard it so many times from you practicing it in our hut," came his easy reply. "I haven't been missing anything. Besides, somebody has to keep watch, and I'm the only able-bodied man left in the village." Celia looked up and down her brother. Lean, with her same keen eyes, and certain fine facial features, he nonetheless had not yet shed that air of boyishness that his affable personality only seemed to underline.

"Man?" she snorted. "At this point, you're closer to being an otter-duck than a man." Jack rolled his eyes.

"Har har," he said. "Get in your laughs now, but you guys all need me more than you know. I'll have you know that I found something a bit disturbing while I was keeping watch today." Celia's smile faded quickly. Jack might have taken his job a bit too seriously, but nonetheless she couldn't help but be troubled.

"What? What is it?" she pressed. Jack dug into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out a small handful of a vile black powder.

"Soot," he said. "That means ships have been around. Water Tribe ships are powered by wind and hydromancy, while ships from the Earth Kingdoms work on wind alone. This soot means there's a ship in the area, and it belongs to the Dominion of Fire's navy." Celia shuddered. The last thing she wanted was for the Dominion to come in and shatter the fragile existence she and her tribe had eked out for themselves on their remote part of the Southern Water Tribe's island.

"Why do you think they're here?" she asked.

"This place doesn't offer them any kind of war advantage," Jack said as he shook soot off his hands disdainfully. "If they're here, then they're after something specific, and probably something valuable."

"Well, what do you think they're after?" Celia asked. Jack shook his head.

"I don't know."

* * *

On board the ironclad ship designated the _Burning Blade_, the crew moved hurriedly to keep sailing at full speed. Prince Diego, master of the ship, had made port a few days ago, and when he had returned, he had claimed to have new bearings, bearings that they should make for immediately. And so it was that in a span of three days, they'd crossed the vast distance from the inlets of the western Earth continent's coast to the warm south seas that the Southern Water Tribe called home. A thick cloud of black smoke billowed out behind them, and the sea's surface was rent apart by their wake. But Diego was in one of his driven moods, and that brooked no disagreement from the crew.

The prince in question had taken up his usual place at the lanced prow of his ship. He was tall, broad of shoulder and chest with the fine bearings of nobility. His clothes were elegant, and his black hair spilled down to his shoulders. In truth, he would have been a very handsome young man, were it not for the most prominent feature of his face. The area surrounding his left eye was coated in vicious scar tissue, a shade of reddish-pink so angry that it looked as though it were trying to devour the rest of Diego's patrician face. He had a look of strong resolution, and his hand toyed with the finely-crafted handle of the rapier thrust into his sash. When he got to staring out at the sea like this, he would seldom talk, and he would not move at all; he only broke his silence to tersely give instructions to his crew, and would then resume his contemplation. It had become something of a joke among the crew, who secretly held contests to see who could best imitate Prince Diego's intense stare.

Lumbering across the deck was the one man who could dare to even look Diego in the eye when he was in this mood: the venerable General Inigo. He had the look of a great man gone to seed, and his military fineries barely accommodated a paunch that had most certainly not been present during his glory days. Stroking his grey beard with one hand, he laid his other upon the shoulder of his brooding nephew. "We have been sailing nonstop for three days, Prince Diego," his low, drawling voice began. There was a strangely calming quality to it, as though somehow his voice had absorbed the relaxation abilities granted by his favorite beverages, tea and fine wine. "Are you sure you know where you are going?" Diego glanced back at his uncle, and then nodded.

"I'm completely sure, uncle. I received some good information at that port. Rumors. Things that could add up to our target. My ticket home, and my path to redemption. The Scion." He practically spat the last word, and Inigo was somewhat troubled; Diego was showing a remarkable degree of hatred for a man that he had never even met.

"Calm yourself, Prince Diego," he said evenly. "If we do indeed find the Scion here-"

"-We will," Diego interjected bluntly.

"-then it will not do," Inigo continued, "for your emotions to be in disarray. You must be in control for your pyromancy to be at its very strongest, remember?" Diego was quite still for a moment. Then, suddenly, he whipped around with the speed of a striking viper and from his outstretched hand he shot forth a great gout of flame, one that flared up brightly as it roared through the air, before ultimately dissipating. Diego folded his arms over his chest.

"I am in control," he said firmly. "And my pyromancy is stronger than ever. This Scion may be a master of all four branches of elemancy, but he will never have faced the likes of me." And with that, he turned himself back to the prow of the ship, staring down as he watched the ship's thin keel cut through the glassy surface of the water. He gripped the iron railings of the prow tightly, barely able to contain his excitement. He knew this was it, he could feel it.

Today was the day that he would finally find the legendary Scion. And when Prince Diego found him, everything would be right.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

The tiny jolly-boat floated across the surface of the water like a leaf, causing nary a ripple as it smoothly glided along the sea. At the stern, Celia stood, her simple gown blowing softly in the sea breeze. Her arms wheeled gently, and with each motion she made, the water gently tugged them forward that much more. There was deep concentration in her face as she traced her body through the motions of hydromancy. She flowed in smooth, lithe movements, each motion fluidly merging with the next.

"You can stop showing off, sis," Jack called out boredly. He was lying down by the prow, his eyes closed and his hands folded behind his head. Annoyed, Celia cocked her wrist and made a slightly more violent gesture. A small torrent of water rose up from the sea before coming down on Jack like a hammer. She suppressed a giggle as he sputtered and sat bolt upright, angrily muttering to himself as he wrung out the hems of his tunic. "Think you're _so_ funny…" he was saying under his breath. "…Stupid hydromancy…"

"That stupid hydromancy is the only reason this boat goes anywhere," Celia said with a smirk, and to prove a point, she stopped moving. Almost immediately, all motion ceased, and the boat was sitting on the surface, still as a painting. Jack rolled his eyes.

"All right," he said, annoyed. "You've made your point. Come on, we're still a ways off from the best reefs." He started sorting through his fishing equipment again, lovingly looking over all the bait he had painstakingly captured for today's expedition. While he examined his prizes, Celia resumed her hydromancy, stroking the boat along its meandering course to food. But as she started heading off in the usual direction, she felt something odd. She could feel the water pulling her in a different direction than normal. Something was different. Something had changed the usual current. Her brow furrowed.

"Hey, do you feel that?" she asked.

"Feel what?" Jack asked, still absorbed in untangling his fishing net. It was Celia's turn to roll her eyes. He was oblivious, as usual.

"The current's different from how it normally is," she said. Carefully, she explored this new undertow with a few tentative hydromantic gestures. Yes, it was different. While the old current took them straight north, this one seemed to be dragging them northeast. Intrigued, Celia relaxed her powers and the boat started shifting course. Jack looked up.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "The fish are that way." He jabbed a finger northward, but Celia shook her head.

"I want to see where this current takes us," she said resolutely.

"Sis, don't you get it? The current could be caused by Fire ships passing through here, for all we know! That current could lead us straight into the worst danger of our lives!" Celia shook her head; she understood enough about how water moved to think that his idea was preposterous.

"Well, if we do run into trouble, then I guess it's a good thing that I've got the best warrior in the village to protect me," she said, her voice dripping with irony. For all his wit and quick thinking, the sarcasm seemed to be lost on Jack, whose chest immediately swelled with pride at the supposed compliment.

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Celia—and make no mistake, I definitely do—we have a responsibility to get back to the village with some good fish." He began sharpening the tip of his fishhook has he said this.

"We're not expected back until sundown," Celia said easily as she stabilized the boat against the current's growing strength. "Plenty of time to fish. There might even be some good fish where we could end up." Jack considered this. Maybe it was the soundness of her logic finally reaching him, or perhaps he had just realized that as one who couldn't practice hydromancy, he had absolutely no power over the course the boat took, but at long last he shrugged and nodded.

"Fair enough," he said. He pointed to her. "But if we come back late, it's your fault, and we're sticking to that story." Celia just nodded back.

"I'm glad you see things my way, Jack." And with that, they drifted in silence for a while, the current picking up in speed. Soon enough, they were practically flying across the waves, plowing through the low and easy tide. Celia no longer had to propel their boat; all her hydromancy was good for now was keeping their vessel steady. But even as she worked to keep their boat steady, Celia noticed that they were now starting to slow down again. This time, even Jack noticed.

"Brilliant," he said as the boat's momentum slowed to a crawl once more. "Now, we've just followed a current that dropped us right in the middle of nowhere. Anything else you want to do to help convince me to make you my navigator when I finally get my own ship, Celia?"

"We're not in the middle of nowhere," Celia said pointedly. "Look at that shadow below the surface of the water." She pointed at the deep blue expanse, and even despite its darkness there was a vast patch that was noticeably darker, almost black. "There's something under there, something that's disrupting the flow of water. And furthermore," she added teasingly, "I'd never be a navigator on any ramshackle raft you'd string together." Jack let the jibe go. He was peering over the edge at the large dark shape.

"What do you think it is?" he asked, his hand falling to the handle of his dirk by habit. "Some kind of creature?" Celia shook her head.

"It's sitting too still," she said. She thought for a moment, biting the edge of her lip. "I think I'm going to bring it up." She spread her arms above her head and splayed her fingers impressively.

"Wait, sis-"

The rest of Jack's objection was drowned out by the sound of gushing water surging into the air as if spat from the earth itself. After a moments' lull, the water crashed back onto the surface, creating innumerable ripples as it fell like rain. There was another stillness as the momentary rain pelted down…and then, like a great whale breaching, the thing broke the surface of the water and bobbed impressively in the tide. It looked to be a giant orb of roughly cut crystal, and in every place where the sun's rays hit it, the light glinted off in a multitude of colors. Jack let his jaw hang open in awe, while Celia's eyes went wide.

"What is that thing?" they chorused at the same time. For the longest time, they just stared at it, neither the boat nor the orb moving at all save for the gentle up-and-down of the tide lashing against their sides. Jack looked at the thing. The crystal, if it was crystal, was translucent, almost white, but it looked as though-

"I think there's someone in there!" he cried out in surprise. Celia started.

"What? Where?"

"Right there!" Jack pointed at the rough center, and the two of them squinted. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but there appeared to be the silhouette of a person, sitting calmly at peace…and yet, the silhouette was glowing in an odd, almost otherworldly fashion. "Bring us closer!" Normally, Celia probably would have made some remark about him ordering her around, but right now both of them were too engrossed to care. She waved the boat closer, and the gently sloped prow ground against the crystalline surface with a soft scratching noise. Slowly, tentatively, Jack reached out and gingerly touched it with his fingers. "Hey!" he called out. "This isn't crystal! It's ice!"

"Ice?" Celia carefully made her way to the bow of the boat, doing her best to keep it balanced. "But that's impossible! These are warm waters! It should have melted!" She didn't know why she was becoming so excitable. She had a sudden unshakeable feeling that something important was afoot, and here she was to witness it. She looked at the bottom of the iceberg, and saw how jagged its bottom was. "It must have broken off from the ocean floor," she thought out loud. "It was probably suspended between floating and sinking because that isn't a solid block of ice…it's hollow." She started to slide into another stance, but Jack held up a hand.

"Wait," he said. "Before you use your hydromancy and open this thing, we need to be sure that we can accept whatever responsibilities come with it. We might be unleashing something really bad by breaking this thing open. And if we do…it's totally your fault." Celia just shook her head, as if to say, _whatever._ She concentrated on the roughly-hewn berg before her, her hands outstretched as she willed it to melt itself away. It began to emit a low hissing noise, and tiny plumes of steam began to snake through the air as the ice began to collapse on itself. Suddenly, a huge chunk of it fell into the ocean with a splash. A blinding white light filled the area, and both Celia and Jack shielded their eyes from it. A powerful gust blew over them, one that rocked the both so much that Celia feared it might capsize. But after a moment, the wind settled again, and the light died down. Slowly, Celia dared herself to look at what the rock held.

The first thing that struck her was that he was young. He had intense grey eyes, and his rounded head was framed by closely cropped black hair. He was lean, and his build combined with the motley assortment of orange and brown that he wore gave her the distinct impression that he was a wanderer of some kind. Certainly, the elegant wooden staff clutched in his right hand aided the image. But what really caught her eye were the arrows: at least six bright blue jangling charms strewn across his clothes, each one in the shape of an arrow. Compared to the muted tones of his outfit, they stood out very distinctly, and there was something oddly familiar about their design…

The stranger from the iceberg looked around for a moment, confused, taking in his surroundings. And then, at long last, he noticed the dumbfounded boy and girl standing before him in a boat, and his youthful face broke out into a wide and friendly grin. "Hello," he said with a casual wave, before bowing slightly. "I'm Brishen. Pleased to meet you." If the appearance of a strange boy in an iceberg didn't confuse the two Water Tribe youths, then certainly his immediately pleasant and friendly demeanor did.

"What did you say your name was?" Jack said, his hand edging close to the hilt of his dirk. Celia laid her hand on her brother's wrist, staying his hand.

"He said his name was Brishen," Celia said. She turned to the boy. "That's an unusual name, Brishen," she said to him. "I've never heard one like it, especially not here in the Southern Water Tribe." Brishen's grey eyes widened.

"Oh, wow," he said. "I'm in the south seas? How'd I get all the way here?" He looked around, as though expecting for the answer to his question to fall out of the sky at any moment.

"I don't know," Celia answered, trying to be as calming as possible, "but my name is Celia. This is my brother, Jack."

"Don't tell him our names!" Jack hissed. Celia rounded on him, her hands on her hips.

"Why not?"

"Because," Jack retorted, with the air of explaining something very simple to an even simpler person, "he could be a spy for the Dominion of Fire!"

"Dominion?" Brishen asked. "You mean, the Fire Nation? Oh no, I'm not from there," he laughed. "Can't you tell by my name? I'm a member of the Wind Folk!" Celia had to hold down Jack's hand with extra force as Brishen said that.

"You lie," Jack declared softly, his voice wrought with suspicion. "The Wind Folk haven't been seen for close on a century. There aren't any left." Celia looked worriedly to see how the newcomer would take this. But to her surprise, he just laughed and shook his head.

"Don't be silly, Jack." He tasted the new name as he pronounced it, as though to see if it were one he could get used to saying. "Of course the Wind Folk are still around…We just don't come down to these parts very often," he said brightly. Jack looked as though he was going to raise another objection, but Celia cut across him.

"Well, Brishen," she said loudly, "After being encased in a block of ice for so long, I'm sure you're probably hungry. Why don't you come back home with us and I can fix up something for you to eat?" She smiled warmly, and Brishen returned.

"I'd like that," he said. Jack made one last try.

"I'm sorry, Brishen," came his almost snakelike objection. "But our boat can only fit two. I don't know what more we can do for you." But strangely, Brishen didn't seem daunted; that smile was unbreakable.

"No problem," he said. He looked around. "Wait, was there another iceberg with mine?" Celia and Jack, perplexed, both shook their heads, and for just a fraction of a second, that unbreakable smile flickered. "Oh," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness to it. Then, he brightened again. "Well, which way is your village?"

Celia pointed off in the distance. They were a good deal away; even on the calm sea they couldn't see their distant island home. Brishen followed her gesture, and then nodded. "No problem," he declared, and tapped the bottom of his staff on the iceberg impressively. At once, a pair of orange wings unfurled themselves from within his staff, and suddenly a weapon and traveling companion had become an otherwordly contraption altogether. "I'll see you there!" he called out. He slung the glider onto his back before taking a deep breath and jumping headlong into the air. He hung, impossibly, for seconds on end, long after any normal person would have plunged into the water. Suddenly, it seemed as if the air and taken him, and in an instant he was whisked away in the direction Celia had pointed, soaring freely and wheeling eagerly in the bold blue sky.


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Somehow, Prince Diego knew. He couldn't understand why, and he couldn't put it into words. There was a strange, tugging feeling on his gut, on his mind, and it wouldn't let go. As he stood on the deck of his ship, he was suddenly hit with the overwhelming feeling that his search was at its end. As that warmth spread through him, he heard a creaking noise and looked up. The rusty weather vane, perched at the top of the main cabin, had suddenly jerked westward so quickly that it had torn off an entire layer of rust. He turned and began stalking across the main deck to his chambers. He passed the boatswain on his way.

"Head due west," he commanded tersely, not even looking the man in the eye as he passed. He did not see as the boatswain snapped to an immediate salute, and then ran off hurriedly to change course; he was all ready past noticing. He was approaching his quarters, the simple steel door flanked by scarlet banners bearing his father's seal. His hand grasped the cold metal handle, and instantly, the handle and indeed the entire door warmed to a much more comfortable temperature. He beckoned with his free hand to a nearby crewman, who hustled over and hastily saluted. "Have the armorers bring me my finest armor and weapons," he commanded, "And rouse my uncle."

"At once, Prince Diego." The man bowed and left. Diego watched him go for a moment, his one undamaged eye squinted in concentration as he tried to remember the servant's name. _Gabriel_…_I think._ He shook his head. Their names didn't matter. He had bigger things on his mind right now. He threw open the hatch and strode into his spartan quarters. He had done his best to redecorate the captain's quarters of the ship as something suitable to one of his royal bearing, but the silk cushions and velvet hangings couldn't hide the coldness and hardness of the ironclad's insides. Slowly, he began to undo his sailing clothes while he awaited his armorers.

The Fire Prince was girding himself for war.

* * *

With practiced ease, Jack moored the jolly-boat along the side of the pier with a complicated square knot, one of his own invention. He proudly boasted that it could be undone by no hands except his own, and so far he'd been proven right. In addition to showcasing Jack's ingenuity, it also had the side effect of shackling Celia to her brother if she ever wanted to use his boat. That was annoying, but spending some time with her brother wasn't the worst thing in the world. As Jack clambered onto the pier, Celia made a nonchalant sweeping motion with her left hand. Immediately, a small column of water rose out of the sea, before freezing itself solid before their very eyes, forming a simple ice ramp. Carefully, Celia walked up it, using hydromancy to keep herself from slipping. She had finally succeeded in freezing water by herself about a month ago, but she was still having trouble with thickness; at the moment, almost any icy surface she made had dubious durability at best.

As the siblings reached the mouth of the pier, they saw Brishen waiting for them, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his staff crooked in his elbow and shoulder and a bright smile on his face. He waved to them enthusiastically before straightening himself up. With a rush of wind, he forced himself to his feet, landing so lightly on the ground that he barely made any sound at all. Both Celia and Jack marveled at seeing true aeromancy with their own two eyes; indeed, it was a sight that no mortal eyes had gazed upon for well over a century.

"You can fly?!" was Jack's immediate exclamation. It was one he'd been holding in since he'd seen Brishen take wing when they were in the middle of the ocean. Brishen just nodded.

"All aeromancers can," he explained. "With a tool like this glider, you can stay aloft, and then all you need to do is manipulate the air around you to carry you. I believe your sister does the same thing with your boat." Celia nodded, impressed at his knowledge of hydromancy's capabilities. It wasn't often that an outsider understood the principles of a branch of elemancy other than their own so well.

"You must know an awful lot about elemancy," Celia said.

"I know a few things," Brishen said. "We Wind Folk don't like to stay in any one spot, so I've wandered all over the world. I've been to the lands of the Earth Kingdoms, I've traveled to the Northern and Western Water Tribes…I've even been to the Fire Nation. Never managed to make it down here before, though," he added as an afterthought. Celia's brow furrowed. _Fire Nation?_ She thought. _I've never heard it called that before._ Apparently, Jack was thinking along similar lines.

"Fire Nation?" Jack asked. "You mean, the Dominion of Fire?" Brishen cocked his head to the side.

"No, the Fire Nation," he replied, somewhat quizzically. "Dominion of Fire sounds kind of silly, doesn't it?" In spite of herself, Celia laughed.

"Yes," she agreed, "it does, a bit." But nonetheless, she was troubled. She vaguely remembered from the history lessons she'd learned long ago that perhaps at one time, the Dominion had been called the Fire Nation. But that had been a long time ago…if it was true, it hadn't been called that since before her grandmother was born. And if this boy, this stranger, was referring to it by that name…what did that mean? Had he really been stuck in that block of ice for so long?

A low rumble interrupted Celia's reverie. Brishen was patting his stomach. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I think my stomach is getting the better of me."

"Not at all," Celia said. "Come on, I'll take you back to my hut and get you something to eat."

"Your hut?" Jack called. "Our hut!" Celia rolled her eyes.

"Don't mind my brother," she said to Brishen as she took him aside and led him off to her hut. "He thinks he's the man of the village, just because he's the only warrior left." Brishen looked at her blankly.

"Why's he the only warrior left?" Celia bit her lip a little. She was starting to understand that Brishen didn't seem to know certain things about how the world was. She thought of how dark things had gotten, how desperate life had become, and how strangely bright and upbeat this stranger from the iceberg seemed to be in spite all of that. It was too much to talk about on just a walk.

"Let me fix your meal, and I'll tell you over lunch."

The cottage was small, but somehow spacious. It had been built well, with a strong wooden frame and a neatly-thatched roof. It was very basically furnished, but it certainly looked like home. "I know it's not very big or impressive," Celia began. Brishen shook his head.

"It's just fine," he said. "Here, let me tend the fire while you cook." He walked over to the fireplace, and with a slow pushing motion he began to gently direct air into the base of the fire, like a bellows. The fire gave a low growl of approval, and soon it was crackling merrily. Celia came over with a large clay pot full of what looked to be some kind of fish stew. She mounted it above the fire, and then began to make a stirring motion with her hand. The pot's contents began to swirl within, and in moments a thick and sweet aroma filled the entire cottage. Brishen sniffed deeply. "That sure smells good," he said. Celia smiled in gratitude.

"Thanks," she said. "It's clamfish stew. It's my grandmother's recipe, but I'd like to think I make it pretty well myself." Brishen sat himself down at their table.

"So, why is Jack the last warrior in your village?" he asked. Celia, her back turned to him, winced slightly. She had hoped he might forget that during the walk over.

"Well, you see, it's…" she let out a sigh. No easy way to do this, no matter what she tried. "It's because of the war." She heard Brishen's chair scrape slightly across the floor as its occupier jolted in surprise.

"War?" Brishen exclaimed. "What war?" Celia sighed again. His reaction wasn't making this any easier.

"For the past hundred years, the Water Tribes and the Earth Kingdoms have been at war with the Dominion of Fire." _Thunk._ Brishen had stood up so violently that a gust of air had blown his chair over.

"One hundred years?!" She turned around, concern etched on her face. Brishen was looking at his hands, at himself, as though he wasn't quite who he thought he was. He looked around at the hut as though seeing it for the first time, a bewildered and helpless look on his face, like that of a child lost at the market. Motherly instincts kicking in, Celia rushed over to him and threw her arms around his shoulders.

"It's all right," she said softly, patting him on the back. "Here, come on, sit down." She steered him towards his fallen chair, righted it, and sat him down in it. "Let's get you some stew." She gestured to the pot, and a tendril of stew, chunks of fish and vegetable afloat in it, snaked its way out of the pot and through the air, coming to rest smoothly in a hewn wooden bowl. The stew was steaming, and she gently pushed the bowl underneath Brishen's nose. Almost mechanically, he took the wooden spoon next to him and slurped down a spoonful. Slowly, the troubled expression on his face softened, and he mustered up a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Celia," he said softly. "It's delicious." As he took another spoonful, Celia took a seat across the table from him, and continued.

"About a hundred years ago," Celia explained, "The Dominion of Fire began an all-out war on the rest of the world. They invaded the beaches of the Earth Kingdoms, they sunk every Water Tribe ship they could find…my grandmother was a little girl during the opening days of the war. She tells me it was awful.

"But even more than Earth and Water, the Fire Lord wanted the Wind Folk." Brishen looked up from his lunch. There was worry now, as he started to realize what it meant to have the most powerful military in the world after your own people, and what Jack had said earlier.

"Why, though? Why us?"

"There were a lot of reasons," Celia said. She was struggling to remember what the village school had told them about the war. She had been more interested in getting outside and practicing her hydromancy than in learning, but now she wished she could tell this boy more, something to reassure him, maybe. "They were the hardest to find, and he thought they'd be the most troublesome because of that. But I think the real reason is because he was looking to eliminate the Scion." Celia noticed an odd flicker in Brishen's face at the mention of the Scion, that legendary mancer who was capable of practicing all four branches of elemancy. There was one born each generation, in a cycle going through each of the four peoples of the world. And according to the cycle, it had been the Wind Folk's turn to bear a Scion unto the world.

"The Scion?" Brishen said. "But he would have been young then—just a boy."

"Or girl," Celia corrected him. "And I think that was the point. Get rid of the new Scion before he has time to learn the ways of the other three elements, when he's young and not nearly as formidable a mancer as he will one day be. A smart idea, but executed in the most terrible way possible." Brishen's eyes seemed to have absolute dread at the thought of the answer.

"Did he-?"

"Yes," Celia said sadly. "The Dominion was very thorough." A ripple appeared in Brishen's stew; a tear had fallen into it. Another one was rolling down his cheek and onto his chin, but though he wept, he did not sob and he was quite still, just staring into his lunch in disbelief, in grief, in shock. Celia's heart ached for him. She wished that there was something, anything she could do. But she thought that perhaps her best option was to give him some time alone. Quietly, she excused herself to go see how Jack was doing down at the pier. She peeled aside the sealskin flap to their doorway, and before she left, she gave the defeated youth one last glance full of pity before leaving him be.

* * *

She found Jack by the piers still, playing with a few of the village children. Even from the distance, she knew the game: they were pretending to be heroic Water Tribe pirates, sailing the seas and fighting Jack, who was playing the part of the Big Bad Fire admiral. As she watched them play, a small smile crossed her face, and she felt the tension in her heart lessen. Jack looked up for a moment from playing with the children, and saw his sister. He watched as the look of sadness on her face turned to one of happiness, and then as it turned into a mask of dread, staring out over the water. Jack turned to look, and his face grew grim. The massive form of an ironclad Dominion ship, its chimney belching acrid black smoke, was powering its way towards them.

"Kids, get inside your houses, and tell your mothers to lock their doors," Jack said tersely. The kids knew better than to question Jack when he was like this, and immediately scattered to their respective homes. Jack ran to the boat and grabbed his bow, arrows, and his dirk. He looked up to Celia, who was running towards him.

"That means you, too, sis," he said. She shook her head.

"No. You can't take on an entire ship full of Dominion soldiers all by yourself, Jack. I can help." Jack shook his head defiantly.

"No." Then, he thought better of it. "Get in our boat, and head down the coast to the Windsor tribe. Have them send help. That's how you can help me." Celia could see that there'd be no arguing with him. They exchanged one last glance, and then Celia leapt for the boat while Jack started rushing to their home to grab his _accoutrements de guerre_. Celia clambered into the jolly-boat, and was relieved to see that Jack had all ready undone his supposedly unbeatable knot. Hastily unmooring the craft, she wheeled her arms about, and the waves shot her off like an arrow into the sea.

Jack burst into the cottage, and a startled Brishen looked up from his soup to see his hostess' brother, armed to the teeth, frantically putting on the light armor that he had. He grasped his staff out of reflex. "What's wrong?" he asked. Jack didn't even look at him as he buckled his jerkin into place and checked the straps on his greaves.

"Dominion ship in the harbor," he said tersely. He slid his dirk out of its sheath: half as long as a sword, but twice as long as a dagger, it was a simple but nonetheless fine weapon. Content with its sharpness, he slid it back in before strapping on his quiver. "Stay here and lock the door." He reached onto a shelf, pulling out a small clay jar. He stuck two fingers in it, and began to paint half his face a brilliant blue.

"What is that?" Brishen asked.

"Woad," Jack said, still not looking at him. "We use it in times of war." He finished painting his face, and stood up. Brishen looked at him. Despite his young age, the armor and warpaint managed to make him look very impressive. Half of his face was bright blue, but somehow this just made him look more fearsome and otherworldly. He pointed to Brishen. "Stay here," he repeated. And with that, he turned and left his hut immediately, leaving Brishen standing there with staff in hand, unsure of what to do.

* * *

The Dominion landing party consisted of ten burly armored figures, their brass facemasks making them look almost demonic somehow. Five of them took up positions on either side of the landing ramp and saluted, and slowly, in royal fashion, Prince Diego strode down from the prow of the _Blade,_ his boots clanking softly against the steel floor. Just behind him strode his uncle Inigo, stroking his beard. Diego's hand came to rest on his rapier, and he saw that there was but one warrior to meet them. He looked to be about Diego's age, and he was painted up for war. One eye was looking down the long shaft of a sharp arrow, his bow curved back and the string taut. In a flash, the arrow flew through the air, suddenly seeming to grow out of an unfortunate guard's neck. With a strangled groan, the soldier fell onto the ground, writhing as his lifeblood seeped out of him. Immediately, the nine remaining guards dropped into fighting stances and prepared to send bolts of flame the warrior's way, but Diego held up a hand to stay them. The Water Tribe warrior was all ready notching another arrow onto his bowstring.

"I am Prince Diego, son of Fire Lord Octavio and heir to the throne," Diego called in his most imperious voice. "And I am here in search of the Scion. Do not try to lie to me, I know he is here." Like a silver snake flashing, he drew his rapier from its spot on his belt and pointed it at the lone warrior. "I do not doubt your bravery, warrior of the Water Tribe. But if you do not tell me where he is, I will kill you and every person in this village, and your bravery will be wasted. Now tell me," he said dangerously, "Where is the Scion?"


	4. Chapter 3

The day was young, and dew clung to the grass that Commander Jeong Jeong tread upon

**CHAPTER THREE**

As the _Burning Blade_ pulled into the harbor, Luis lurched forward with the ship, but quickly caught his balance. He was not a sailor, like most of the crew on this ship, and did not truly have his so-called "sea legs." He was a recorder, sent along with Diego's expedition by Fire Lord Octavio to document the entire thing. He resented this greatly: he had had a comfortable life in Quemado, the capital of the Dominion of Fire. Suddenly, he had been ordered to uproot all of that to follow a good-for-nothing exile and his conked uncle as they went about the world on a wild goose chase. And of course, Prince Diego had done absolutely nothing to make circumstances better. He was not a bad captain of his ship, but he was at times inconsiderate, and when he got in his darker moods he was most unbearable.

But today, everything had changed. Diego seemed more convinced today than he had any other day in the past two years that the Scion would be here. Even now, while Luis watched from the deck, Diego was calling out to a lone Water Tribe warrior, who had just shot one of the royal guards dead with a strange-looking bow. Luis scanned the village. It was most unimpressive. The village green was pathetically tiny, ringed by several huts and cottages with wooden frames and thatched roofing. It was one of the smaller settlements that the Southern Water Tribe had made. It was nothing like the frozen arctic waters that the Northern Water Tribe called home, nor was it in a constant state of fog and rain like the Western Water Tribe. And apparently the best that this particular village could muster was a single warrior, a boy who looked to be no older than Prince Diego.

But as he continued to scan the village, his eyes caught on something. At a hut at the far end of the green, someone was moving in the window. This wasn't too surprising in and of itself; naturally the warrior had told the women and children to barricade themselves inside their houses for their own safety. But from the silhouette, Luis was almost certain that the figure was a male. And what was more, he looked to be about fighting age. Why, Luis wondered, would the Water Tribe hold back an able-bodied youth? But even as he pondered that, the figure peeked out of the window. It was for a split second, but what Luis managed to see had him rushing back across the deck to his quarters. The boy in question was most certainly not a member of the Water Tribe. His garb and complexion had both made this obvious. And he certainly didn't look like a citizen of any of the Earth Kingdoms. No, he looked like a wanderer, like a member of the people Luis' own proud nation had thought themselves rid of so long ago…

He burst into his quarters and hastily scribbled a message. He summoned his messenger hawk, slid the parchment into a canister on the bird's back, and sent it flying north. Luis had been appointed to serve Prince Diego, but he truly felt his loyalty was to another party, one whom he thought would make much better use of this valuable information than the bumbling Prince. Satisfied that his hawk had not been seen, Luis returned to the deck to watch the standoff unfold, and hoped that he had not been too hasty in informing his true master.

* * *

Frantically, Celia pushed the jolly-boat as fast as it would go without capsizing. She was to head north, she was to head north, she kept telling herself. She had to get to one of the sister villages and ask for help, and she had to do it soon. She didn't know how much help they would be able to give; like her own village, they had committed their ships and warriors to the war effort. But she kept powering herself northward, in the forlorn hope that there would be something there to save her village and her brother before everything she had left in her life was burned to the ground, and the sandy beaches she had grown up on turned to glass.

She found it frustrating, though. The currents were not going northerly; they seemed to be going almost to the northeast. She was fighting the current, but it was making her boat go that much more slowly. She was not yet that skilled of a hydromancer to redirect the currents of the sea at will. But she couldn't go northeast; that would bring her right back to where she and Jack had discovered Brishen. But as she continued to fight the current, she began to think. She had freed Brishen and cut the iceberg into pieces, which should have restored the current to normal. But the very fact that the current was still altered meant that there was something still there. And then, she remembered as she had offered Brishen lunch, he had looked around and asked about a second iceberg. Slowly, a grin was forming on her face. There _was _something there! She had no clue as to what, but she was hopeful. For all she knew, an entire troupe of Wind Folk was frozen down below the sea's surface.

Angling her boat, she was no longer fighting the current. She now went with it, willing it to take her to the place where she had discovered Brishen, and as quickly as possible.

* * *

"_Where is the Scion?"_

"I don't know where the Scion is," Jack called defiantly, looking down the shaft of his drawn arrow at the impressive figure of Prince Diego. "But he certainly isn't here. Now take your warriors and return to your ship, or else another one of you dies!" His fingers twitched, eager to unleash another arrow. But almost defiantly, Diego stepped forward, brandishing the elegant silver rapier that was almost as famous as he.

"I'm afraid that you're in no position to demand anything of me," the prince said. He slashed at the air, and a thin gout of flame shot out, like an arrow unto itself. It smoothly sailed past Jack's cheek and neatly burned through his bowstring. The arrow immediately fell to the ground, and Jack dropped the bow, glowering. His hand fell to the hilt of his dirk. Diego raised his eyebrow. This rube, this primitive was going to challenge him to a fight. He smirked. Even with his status as an exile, Diego was still regarded as one of the finest fencers in the Dominion. Of course, in a family where skill in pyromancy was regarded as the most desirable trait, he had failed to impress, but nonetheless most were wary of challenging him to a fight. He grinned, his mouth crinkling the edges of his ugly scar, and dropped into a fighting stance.

Jack drew his dirk and gritted his teeth. This wouldn't be easy. His opponent, this so-called prince, had the poise of a deadly veteran, and his weapon was twice the length of Jack's own. His dirk's blade, double-edged and simple, glinted brightly as the sun shone off its broad surface. By contrast, Diego's rapier, with its elegant sterling silver basket hilt and its long and narrow blade, seemed to be a thin gleaming snake that was writhing towards fresh blood. With an eerie silence, Diego advanced, moving far more quickly than Jack had anticipated, his red cloak billowing out magnificently behind him. Were it not for his scar, he would have been the very image of a dashing hussar.

Jack nimbly parried the first thrust, and then the next one before dropping to his knees and slashing widely with his dirk, aiming to cut the prince across his ankles. With a simple flick of his wrist, Diego met the blade in mid-swing, leaping back slightly so he would be just out of reach of the dirk's short blade. He immediately disengaged, and rapped Jack hard across the left temple with the flat of the blade. Jack buckled, surprised by the motion, and Diego immediately made for the killing thrust.

* * *

Celia looked around warily. What she was about to do was something she'd never experimented with in her studies of hydromancy before. She stood, poised at the edge of her jolly-boat. She was floating in the place in which she had found Brishen, and was now preparing to take the plunge. She steadied herself, remember what she'd been able to teach herself through experimentation and studying what little literature their village possessed. Deciding that she shouldn't think anymore and should just act suddenly, she took the leap, moving her arms about her the entire way in simple, fluid motions.

Amazingly, she was completely dry. She found herself suspended in a bubble below the ocean's surface, one she was keeping around her with frantic hydromancy. She began to use the current to push her deeper down into the water's depths, looking around frantically as the water became more dark, the sunlight more dim. But as she got deeper and deeper, and the water became blacker and blacker in color, she could see something. It was tiny from the distance, but it was that exact same shade of whiteish-blue that had emitted softly from Brishen's iceberg. Sensing that it would have to do, as she couldn't remain in her bubble for much longer, she gestured wildly to try and dislodge the iceberg from its resting place. It simply refused to budge. Gritting her teeth, she rubbed her hands together and mentally heaved, and this time was rewarded as that tiny blue light grew ever larger and larger, as it had finally broken off the ocean floor and was rushing up to meet that waiting and now-unfamiliar sun.

_See you up top,_ Celia thought, before starting her own swim back up to the surface. Her bubble was shrinking around her by the moment, and when she finally surfaced she felt much more short of breath than usual, even for her, a member of the Water Tribe. She looked over as she bobbed in the tide, and saw the iceberg floating before her. It was huge, even bigger than the one that Brishen had been inside of. She clambered aboard the jolly-boat, still breathing hard. That was easily the most intense hydromancy she had ever tried. And yet, as she saw that great floating thing ahead of her, she knew she would have to muster up the last dregs of strength that she had to make this work. Once she was safely aboard, she used hydromancy to remove all the water from her clothes and hair, and it landed with a splash as a puddle at her feet. Biting her lip and barely able to stand, she made several violent cutting motions with her hands. Fissures, and then large cracks appeared in the surface of the iceberg, and vast chunks of it fell into the water wholesale, splashing up white foam and causing the boat to rock. Another cascade of light and wind hit Celia, and she shielded her eyes. When she opened them again, what she saw was not a troupe of Wind Folk. It wasn't even a single person.

But Celia knew that what she saw could be just what her brother needed.

* * *

The rapier's tip bearing down on him, Jack quickly rolled away and Diego's blade stuck itself in the sandy soil. The Water Tribe warrior pulled himself up into a crouch, and the two backed off from each other for a moment, circling each other warily. They were beginning to size each other up now. There was no doubt, Diego held the clear advantage in both reach and technique, and it was a gap that Jack just couldn't fill. But Jack was crafty, and he seemed to have a strange knack for being wherever the tip of Diego's rapier was not. But if the fight wore on any longer, Diego was going to overwhelm him, and then it would truly be over.

From the sidelines, Inigo stroked his beard somewhat worriedly. His nephew did not have to be having this fight right now, did not have to be threatening the life and love of this lone warrior. He had come looking for the Scion, but all he'd found was another fight with locals. This had happened at almost every port their procession had stopped in, and Inigo wondered how much longer it would take before Diego understood that himself. He sighed and shook his head. _What a waste,_ he thought sadly.

Diego leaned forward, taking an all-out offensive stance. Jack, on the other hand, was standing in a strange stance that left his left half glaringly open to attack. Diego smirked. This was too easy all ready. Shuffling forward, he came in for the lunge, but Jack seemed to have been expecting it. He twisted his wrist, and the sun caught the dirk's broad blade just right, sending an intense beam of light directly into Diego's eyes. _Curses,_ Diego thought, _but he is resourceful!_ Jack, meanwhile, rushed into close quarters, where the rapier's extra reach would be a hindrance instead of an advantage. Diego had to move like lightning to parry the follow-up slash, and then sprung back so he could put a comfortable distance between himself and his foe.

He thrust out, and Jack raised his own blade to parry. However, Diego had been expecting that, and with a careful twist of his wrist succeeded in sending the dirk spinning away from the now-unarmed Jack. Nonetheless, the painted warrior stood defiantly, prepared to stand tall in his last moments. Diego came in for that kill, aiming for his heart—

He felt his hair whip violently across his face for a moment, the wind having kicked up so strongly and suddenly that he had closed his eyes. But he had felt the distinct sensation of his rapier sinking into nothing at all. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Jack was on the ground and looked fairly windswept, as though he'd just been blown down by the sudden gust. But as Diego looked to the left, he saw a boy, no older than fourteen, in a strange fighting stance, wearing a wanderers' garb, and clutching a simple but elegant staff in his hands. Diego's eyes widened in surprise as he realized what had happened. That had been no gust of wind…that had been aeromancy.

"Leave him alone," Brishen called out, and his young voice rang with a strange authority, something that transcended even royalty in sound. He straightened up and planted his staff in the ground defiantly. "My name is Brishen the Scion of the Wind Folk, and I am he that you seek."


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Brishen was angry. Brishen was hurt. Brishen was concerned for the welfare of his new friend, Jack.

But most importantly, Brishen was angry.

His brow furrowed and a look of grim determination carved into his face, he bore down on the scarred Prince Diego, clad in his resplendent red armor and silks, his cloak billowing in the sea breeze. Diego's face lit up as though he were a child who had just received exactly what he had wanted for his birthday. Then, he stood up straight and brandished his rapier at Brishen.

"Brishen the Scion, I am Diego, eldest son and heir of Fire Lord Octavio. As Prince of the Dominion of Fire, I order you to come with me," he said imperiously. But Brishen merely shook his head.

"No," he said, and in that one syllable he infused every shred of finality that he could. Jack was scrambling to his feet, dirk in hand once more. He looked to Brishen, and now he saw their strange new companion in a completely different light. His jaw had dropped slightly.

"You're the Scion?" Jack asked, his voice barely above an awe-filled whisper. Tersely, not removing his gaze from the deadly Prince Diego, Brishen nodded. Jack just stared, but eventually something in his brain reminded him of the matter at hand, and he turned back to Prince Diego, assuming a fighting stance. The nine remaining guards began to file in behind him. Brishen bit his lip. Taking on ten experienced pyromancers was not going to be easy, especially when he was the only mancer on their side. Jack seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Can you hold them off for a few minutes by yourself?" he hissed into Brishen's ear. Brishen thought for a moment. With Jack off the field, Brishen wouldn't have to worry about watching anyone else's back. But then, it would cut the advantage from five-on-one to ten-on-one. He decided that Jack probably had a plan of some kind that would turn the tide, and that it was worth the risk for now.

"Go," Brishen whispered. Immediately, Jack sheathed his dirk, and then turned and ran straight for his hut. Diego smirked as he ran off.

"You're looking awfully lonely over there, o Scion," he said mockingly. Brishen had nothing to say to him. Diego waited for a few moments to see if he would get a comeback, and when he received none, he just sighed and shrugged. He leveled his rapier at Brishen. "Attack!" Like hungry dogs, his nine armored guards leapt forward, tearing the air apart with a hail of fire blasts. Brishen twirled his staff, and then swept it across, and a wave of air issued forth, cutting through every blast of fire and making all of them dissipate. But now, the nearest guard was within fighting range. He lashed out with a kick at Brishen, but Brishen wasn't there. The boy had jumped a good six feet in the air, the wind carrying him. He landed adeptly on the back of the guard's neck, and the force of him pushing off to jump again sent the guard into the ground, face-first. He held his staff high over his head, and as he came down to land, the sun at his back, he brought it down hard on the ground, sending out another wave of air that knocked the four guards who had moved to surround him flat on their backs.

Another soldier came in with a punch, his fist encased with fire. Thinking quickly, Brishen twirled his arms, building up some momentum, before knocking the blow to the side, a burst of wind blowing the flames aside. Crouching, he swept the guard's legs out from under him, and braced himself as the next attack came. And while he did, Diego watched, interested. The Scion wasn't fighting like he had expected. He wasn't using all four elements, and he didn't appear to be fighting to kill. No, he was merely knocking Diego's soldiers down and disorienting them. Even now, they were getting back on their feet and preparing to join the battle once more.

An attacker lunged at Brishen, and the young nomad sidestepped him easily, before rapping the soldier on the back of the neck with the tip of his staff, throwing him off-balance. He lashed out with another blast of air, hitting the soldier squarely in the back. Clumsily, the soldier stumbled forward, crashing headlong into an oncoming soldier and leaving the two on the ground as a confused tangle of limbs and armor. Brishen leapt up to avoid being surrounded, and landed on a nearby roof, bending his knees to absorb the impact. He held himself unsteadily. The thatched roofing snaked underfoot, and was not the best grounding. Also, it occurred to him, it was quite flammable.

A firebolt came screaming straight for Brishen, but he quickly batted it right back at its launcher, hitting the man squarely in the chest and creating an ugly scorch mark across his burnished breastplate. He fell, but there were still eight standing, and Prince Diego had not even joined the fight yet. Brishen bit his lip and wiped some sweat from his brow. He was starting to tire, as anyone would after fighting nine people. But even as he wondered what was taking Jack so long, something flashed in the air, and an arrow was suddenly protruding out of a soldier's shoulder. Jack notched another arrow. His bow had a new string on it, and he was taking aim. With a whoop of exhilaration, Brishen bounded nimbly across the rooftops and adroitly backflipped down to land beside Jack, where he pointed his staff at the waiting Dominion troops. A tense silence fell in the air, with eight able-bodied guards and Diego looming on one side, while Brishen and Jack stood as the village's lone line of defense on the other.

Suddenly, the tension was broken, but it wasn't by either side. A low, braying growl issued from the skies above them all, and as one the combatants, Inigo, and the observers and crewmen on the _Burning Blade_'s deck craned their necks to look. What they saw made most men's eyes widen in surprise, and their jaws slacken in awe. But alone amongst them, Brishen's eyes lit up, his mouth contorted itself into his most radiant smile yet, and there was almost a tear in his eye as he cried out at the top of his lungs, "Appa!"

The beast was massive. That was the only word to describe it. It flew through the sky, pounding its six massive legs while it beat at the air and the clouds with its massive tail, all while throwing back its magnificently massive head and calling out once more. Sitting just at the thing's neck, Celia looked at once determined and terrified as she held onto the thing's white fur for dear life as the beast came in for a landing. With a loud thud that kicked up all manner of dirt and dust, it landed impressively, with surprising grace for a creature so large. A small look of wonder crossed Inigo's face.

"A sky bison," he whispered in awe. "I had thought them extinct." His nephew was less than moved, however. Immediately, the pyromancers moved to attack, but the sky bison called Appa beat the ground once with its flat tail, sending out a greater gust of wind than anything that Brishen had ever made. Diego and his retinue went flying, skidding across the shore before coming to a stop. Celia, still astride Appa's neck, looked to her brother and their new companion.

"Come on!" she called, gesturing to the simple saddle on Appa's back. It was large enough that it could have been a howdah. "We have to get out of here!" Jack and Brishen snapped out of their reverie. Immediately, the two ran for the bison. Jack had some difficulty climbing on, and Celia had to help him up. But Brishen leapt for Appa and mounted him with practiced ease, standing on the thing's back.

"Get in the saddle!" he called to Celia. "You'd best leave this to me!" Celia nodded, and scrambled over to the saddle, worriedly looking on as Diego was slowly getting to his feet. Meanwhile, Brishen now sat astride Appa's neck, and lovingly stroked the thing's lustrous fur like an old friend. With confidence, he took the reins tied to Appa's horns in his hands. Diego was on his feet now, and was running for them.

"No!" he called. "Stop!" But it was too late. Brishen shook the reins.

"Yip yip." With a bray, Appa took off effortlessly, and suddenly the three of them were soaring through the air, the wind clapping against their faces with approval.

Diego watched them go, and spat in anger before angrily scuffing his boot across the ground. He turned and started stalking back onto the entrance ramp of the ship. "Set out a detachment of men and station them in this village," he said to the nearest subordinate he saw. "It is now property of the Dominion of Fire. When that's done, make ready to sail at full speed. We will follow the Scion to every end of the earth until I capture him." Without another word, he swept off into the shadows, doubtlessly to sulk in his quarters about his humiliating defeat. Inigo lumbered on after him, taking one last look at the tiny village. Its days of innocence and simplicity were over, and it was this more than anything that made him feel so sad. He almost wished that he could apologize to them for what his country was going to do to them.

Well, there was an easy remedy for that. A cup of tea fixed everything, that it did. He supposed he would go fix himself one now. And perhaps Prince Diego would be able to find comfort in one, as well.

* * *

Brishen let out a whoop of joy, hugging Appa with his knees as he expertly steered his old friend. Below, the figures of the Dominion forces were shrinking into the distance all ready. "I've really missed you, buddy," Brishen whispered into Appa's ear. Appa brayed warmly in response.

Over in the saddle, Jack was coming to his senses. "What is this thing?" he was asking Celia in disbelief. "Where did it come from?"

"Well, if you remember," Celia began, "back when we invited Brishen to our home, he asked us if we had seen another iceberg. When I went sailing to get help, I noticed the current was taking me back to where we had found Brishen, and I realized that there was something down there. I found him in an iceberg, and when I freed him, he seemed grateful. He's really smart, too," Celia called over to Brishen, who nodded and patted Appa's head in approval. "When I mentioned your name and that you were in trouble, he seemed like he really understood me. What did you say his name was again?"

"His name is Appa," Brishen said happily. "And he's my best friend." Celia smiled; Brishen's joy was nothing short of contagious. Jack, however, always pragmatic, was quick to bring the trio back to reality.

"We can't just leave our village," he said. "We have to go back and defend them from the Dominion. That prince character is really dangerous."

"We'll head back tonight," Brishen said. "They know that I'm alive, and since I'm what they're after, they'll follow me. We can give them the slip in the clouds, and then tonight I can return you two to your homes." Celia's brow furrowed as he said this.

"The way you're talking, you sound like you won't be joining us."

"I won't," Brishen said simply.

"Then where will you go?" she asked.

"I'm the Scion," Brishen said with a shrug. "What I need to do now is begin my mastery of the other three elements. You're a hydromancer, aren't you?" Celia nodded.

"A little," she said. "I have no proper training, but I've been able to figure out a lot of things with practice." Brishen's face fell a little.

"So there aren't any masters of hydromancy in the Southern Water Tribe?"

"No," she said sadly. "They're all off to fight the war." Brishen thought for a moment.

"Where do you think I could find a hydromaster?" he asked after a moment. Celia thought for a moment.

"The Northern Water Tribe is your best bet," she said. "They're fighting a more defensive war against the Dominion, and no one really knows what's become of the Western Water Tribe. The Dominion homeland is directly between them and the rest of the world, so they've been cut off for decades." Brishen nodded in understanding.

"Then it's to the Northern Water Tribe that I shall go, and there I will find one to teach me the art of hydromancy." Jack, tired of being left out of the conversation, spoke up.

"Brishen, let me ask you something," he said, cutting in. "How exactly is it that you and Appa came to be encased as you were in those blocks of ice?" There was a short silence, but it hung awkwardly.

"The sun's starting to get low," Brishen said eventually. "I think we can turn around now. If we do this carefully, we should get back to your village just after nightfall."

"Hey, that doesn't—"

"Yip yip!" Brishen called. At once, Appa started banking right, and did a complete turnaround. Beating the air with his tail, he set off once more for that tiny fishing village on the edge of the Southern Water Tribe, as that sun slowly sank into the distant horizon.

* * *

It was nightfall when Appa finally made landfall by the village. However, the sight that awaited them was not one of welcome. A Dominion banner was planted firmly in the center of the village, and its mere presence seemed to turn it into an entirely alien place. Crude barracks had all ready been set up on the outskirts of the village. Celia and Brishen were barely able to restrain Jack as he endeavored to leap off the saddle and take back the village himself.

"We can't," Celia whispered softly, fighting back tears. "We can't go back. Not until this war is over, we can't go back anymore." Slowly, Jack relaxed, but his shoulders shook slightly. He was sobbing, too. Brishen looked at them worriedly.

"I'm sorry I brought so much trouble upon your village," he said solemnly. "I promise, we will free it. On my honor as the Scion, I will make that happen." He turned to Celia. "You can come train with me at the Northern Water Tribe," he said. "I'm sure you can benefit from the tutelage of a master just as much as I can." Celia nodded, unable to form any real words at this point. Defeatedly, Jack slumped in his corner of the saddle, and both of his companions knew it was best to leave him alone for now. Wordlessly, the three settled back in, and Brishen shook Appa's reins. The sky bison lifted off from that soil for the second time tonight, leaving behind the last shred of the world that Celia and Jack knew, and gallantly carrying them and Brishen into the one that they never could have dreamed of.

* * *

In the Central Sea, a large fleet of ironclads, each one an aquatic juggernaut, floated menacingly in the easy tide. They had been idle for two days, and were currently awaiting orders. Rumors had circulated amongst the crew of the fleet that they would eventually be heading towards the inlets of the Earth continent that would eventually lead them to the great city of Erdenheim, throne of High King himself. The prospect was an exciting one, but until there was any confirmation they had been instructed to stay afloat and only engage targets that came to them.

The flagship of this majestic fleet was the _Iron Fist_, a ship that had been built almost as though Dominion engineers had been curious to see how large they could make a ship, and how many weapons they could festoon it with. Dominion banners bled magnificently out of its sides, and there seemed to be a flag flying at every possible place that one could be mounted. Truly, it was the flagship of the entire Dominion navy. It was to this behemoth that the messenger hawk flew to with such great purpose, and it lit on the rail of the upper deck, where an adjutant immediately saw it. He slid on a leather glove and offered it to the hawk. It obliged, stepping onto the outstretched hand, and then grabbed on as the adjutant rushed to the quarters of the master of the ship.

Count Hector's quarters were sumptuous, with every possible comfort of the homeland furnished in abundance. The Count himself was lounging on a chintz red sofa, softly swirling the contents of a glass of bloodred wine. He was fairly young, no older than in his late twenties. His face was somewhat gaunt, and his mouth seemed to be permanently in a sharklike grimace, his eyes glinting with cunning. He had foregone the customary short beard of most nobility and instead had grown out a pair of impressive sideburns. On most men, it would have looked quite foolish, but the Count possessed an intensity that allowed him to pull it off, as well as a reputation that he would execute anyone who didn't like his appearance. He looked up as the adjutant entered. "Count Hector," the adjutant said, bowing and prodding forth the messenger hawk, "A message has come for you. It looks as though it has come from a long way off." The Count nodded curtly, taking the canister from the hawk's back.

"Thank you. You may go." The adjutant bowed once more before leaving. The Count turned over the canister in his hands, and recognized it as belonging to Luis, one of the royal recorders. Specifically, he had been the one who had been assigned to shadow Prince Diego. Just thinking of that scarred good-for-nothing sickened him. To think, that _he_ was technically first in line for the throne, when there were so many better candidates to succeed Fire Lord Octavio. His sister, Araña, in particular, seemed to possess what it truly took to be Fire Lord. And yet, the count harbored a secret knowledge of the workings of the palace, and with this knowledge he hoped that he might one day leverage that coveted spot himself. But until that time, he did whatever he could to make life difficult for the outcast, Diego.

As he looked over the canister, he was intrigued; he figured it had to be important news, or else Luis, consummate professional that he was, would not have bothered him with it. He pulled off the top and slid the parchment into his hands before unrolling it. His eyes scanned it, and then widened. He threw the parchment down, and immediately drained his glass. He swept out of his quarters, stalked down the corridor, and emerged in an impressive fashion on the bridge. Immediately, every man saluted him.

"We head south!" Count Hector declared. "The Scion is alive."


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

When Jack awoke, they were still aloft. Appa was flying more slowly now, because the wind wasn't hitting them as hard. The sun was still low in the sky, and it ringed the outsides of the clouds in a blueish orange color that he had never seen before, but something about it spoke to him. He looked to the reins and he saw that Brishen was still awake, and looked as though he had been throughout the entire night. Jack was careful not to make a sound; he didn't feel like speaking to Brishen alone just yet.

He cast a glance over at the sleeping form of his sister and smiled. Even in the face of all they had endured in the hell that was yesterday, there she lay, asleep with a smile on her face. They had left behind everything last night, everything that had been familiar. With a small pang of sadness, he realized that in particular, Celia had forgotten their precious lute in their haste to draw off Prince Diego. Deciding that she should not go so long without her precious music, he resolved to buy her one when they stopped off at a market in one of the Earth Kingdoms.

He wasn't sure how he felt about everything. There was an overwhelming sense of shame, of disappointment. He was his village's lone defender, and when the time had come, he had run out on them. He was flying over the sea now, and in a few short hours they would probably be landing in the southern part of the Earth continent. But what really bothered him about all of this was that when the time had come, and Celia had yelled for him to climb aboard Appa and fly away from the Dominion, he had gone, and he had done so without any hesitation.

And yet, there was a strange sense of wonder within him, too. He felt as though he was at the beginning of the greatest adventure of his life. And what was more, he was finally traveling. In his own way, he supposed, he was going out into the world to stop the war in his own way, just like the warriors of his tribe that he idolized so very much. But while they were going to the front lines, he had suddenly become a traveling companion of the Scion himself. The Scion. The one that so many had written off as dead, the one who could stand against the Fire Lord. The very thought of helping the Scion made Jack almost squirm with excitement.

And then, there was Brishen himself. Despite his status as the Scion, Jack still was unsure of whether he trusted the newcomer. True, when Jack had been close to death at the hands of Diego, the wanderer had stepped in and saved him. And then, he reminded himself, Brishen had bravely held off ten elite pyromancers, among the best in the world, and he had done it all single-handedly. Jack shook his head. That was being a good mancer, not a good person. He cast a sidelong glance at Brishen, and decided that their long journey would be the testing grounds for him.

He could feel them starting to descend, and out of reflex held the edge of the saddle in a death grip. He was far from used to the peculiar sensation of flying, but truly it was landing that terrified him the most. But they were sloping down gently; they probably wouldn't be landing for a while yet.

As they broke through the clouds, Jack saw a vast expanse of land before them, far larger than the island he had grown up on. It was almost as though it were a vast green and brown sea, so widely did it stretch in his view. He saw miles of verdant fields, rolling plains, and even a snaking river off in the distance. And as he saw all of this, framed as it was by the slowly rising sun, something about the majesty of it all truly spoke to his heart. "Wow," he whispered.

Brishen perked up and turned around. "Oh, you're awake," he said brightly. "I'm taking Appa down for a while, he's been flying nonstop all night. We can rest for a while and get some breakfast, and then we can start traveling again." Jack nodded. He didn't know why he didn't trust Brishen immediately. The Wind Folk had always had a reputation for being sneaky or shifty, but they hadn't been around for a hundred years. No, he almost felt unsettled by the wanderer's constantly cheery attitude. In the face of so much grimness, it was unthinkable, and yet here he was. He shook his head, and leaned over the side of the saddle.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"We're flying over the edge of one of the southern Earth Kingdoms," Brishen said. "I can never remember which of the eight go where, but I think we're fairly close to the city of Osterlitz. I had a close friend who lived there once…but that was a long time ago." Despite the brightness of the boy's face, there was a strange emptiness to his words as his sentenced trailed off. Jack felt for him. If he'd really been frozen for over a century, then that meant that everyone that Brishen had ever known and cared for was long dead. Jack was sure he'd have difficulty dealing with that idea if it happened to him, and he had to admire the brave face that Brishen was able to put on. In spite of his misgivings, he scooted across the saddle to be closer to Brishen, so he wouldn't have to shout to be heard. He didn't want to wake Celia.

"I'm sorry for everything you've lost," Jack said. He wasn't really sure of what else to say, but it seemed to be enough for Brishen. He nodded, perhaps a little sadly, but nonetheless he seemed to be a little better all ready. "Whatever Celia and I left behind…at least we've got that to come home to when all of this is over. It…" he struggled to find the right words. These heart-to-heart things were Celia's show, not his. He was much more adept at the kind of interpersonal relations where people were trying to kill each other. "…It must be awfully hard on you." Brishen just nodded, and they rode on in silence for a few more minutes.

"I think that we'll fly for Osterlitz when we've rested for long enough," Brishen said. "It's a big city. You and Celia can replenish on supplies, and we can rest in relative safety from the Dominion for a while. And after that, we'll continue heading north."

"Huh," Jack said, looking back down over the rolling countryside. "So we'll fly over all of the Earth Kingdoms, won't we?" He thought hard to what they had learned about the Earth Kingdoms in school. Eight provinces, each one ruled over by a king, that much he remembered. They were in a loose sort of confederacy that spanned the whole continent, and they were easily the largest nation. It was often lamented in their history lessons that if the eight Earth Kingdoms could have just put aside their own squabbling and unite under the High King, then the war against the Dominion would have ended long ago. "Do you think we'll fly over Erdenheim?" Ah, Erdenheim, he thought. Said to be the greatest architectural wonder in the world, it was supposed to be an impregnable fortress, in a valley between five mountains that formed the greatest natural defense in the world. It was the seat of the High King. The curious traveler in Jack yearned to see it, but Brishen shook his head.

"Erdenheim is out east, but we'll be carving a path along the Earth continent's west coast," he said. "But this is only the first leg of my journey. I'll still have to seek out masters in the arts of geomancy and pyromancy after I master hydromancy." Jack nodded in understanding. That seemed to make sense.

"When you finish at the Northern Water Tribe, where will you go?" Brishen shrugged, an odd half-smile on his face. He turned back to the morning sky.

"I'll go where the wind takes me."

* * *

Inigo returned from the market with bulging satchels of local food and curiosities. The _Blade_ had beached its keel on the southern shores of the Earth Kingdom of Osterlitz, known both for its distinctive cuisine, and the eccentric man who ruled the place. Inigo was most definitely interested in the former. Despite his obvious appearance as a citizen of the Dominion, his affable nature had led to him forming a pleasant rapport with most of the local shopkeepers on his morning off. He had talked for close on half an hour with a local herbalist about the joys and frustrations in the quest to brew that perfect cup of tea. He had visited a local flower shop and enjoyed the soothing sights of Osterlitz's native azaleas. He had even had a chance to go beachcombing, and had discovered a few things to add to his vast collection of minutiae from his travels.

So, the Scion was alive. A devout man, Inigo had been glad to see the return of the Scion to the world. He had long worried that something had caused the spiritual cycle that kept the world spinning had broken, sundering the connection of mortal with supernatural. But on an even simpler level, he was happy because the reappearance of the Scion meant a chance for his beloved nephew to finally seek his redemption. He had not been ordered to accompany young Diego, but he had volunteered because he felt personally responsible for the prince's welfare. He was a young and troubled man, viciously taking on the rest of the world because he felt he had no other choice, and that was a situation vastly unfair to anyone, let alone someone too young to know the burden they carried, and too arrogant to realize that it was too much.

The best that he could do now was act as Diego's conscience. He was always trying to steer the young prince onto a better path, but occasionally Diego showed flashes of the aggression and ruthlessness that made Inigo so wary of his younger brother. No matter what he thought of the quest that Octavio had set out for his son, he would do his best to aid Diego in capturing the Scion. But he would make sure that Diego never crossed any lines in his quest to restore his honor. He would make sure that if Diego was going to achieve his victory, he was going to do so in the purest way possible, so that his legacy would be untainted, rather than soaked in the blood of every man that he ever had to walk over. This was the best gift that he could give to the young prince, and he would give it until he had absolutely no more to give.

He smiled as he strode out onto the pier, heading for the familiar form of the _Burning Blade_. It was a good day.

* * *

Standing on the main deck overlooking the pier, Diego couldn't help but roll his eyes at his goofy uncle. The man, despite his ornate fineries and noble status as the reigning Fire Lord's older brother, looked like a giddy tourist, marveling over oddly shaped shells and eagerly sniffing at the local herbs he had bought, doubtlessly to add to his tea. Then, he permitted himself a rare smile. Decades of war, and his uncle still seemed like the jolly man who had played with him by the royal reflection pond when he was just a child. _And to think,_ Diego thought to himself, _this man was once the greatest general in the history of the Dominion, the most feared man in the world…the one they called the Lion of Fire._

The Lion of Fire. Diego did not know how his uncle had acquired such a fierce soubriquet, and he had not asked. He supposed it was because of his ferocity in combat, or his noble bearing, or something symbolic like that. _Well_, he thought, _history will grant me my own name to be remembered by._ He would be remembered as the Scion-slayer, and the savior of his country. And when the time came, he would be remembered as a wise and just ruler of the Dominion, favored son of his father and yet greater than he. The thought warmed Diego slightly. By capturing the Scion, he would ultimately be making the world a better place, and history would vindicate him for that.

Satisfied with the view, he turned and walked back towards the innards of the ship. Despite having been crafted by a nation of people who could create and manipulate fire, it was dimly lit in the corridor. Diego stretched out his hand and flexed his fingers slightly, breathing carefully and slowly. Like a tiny sun coming to life, a flame was birthed above his hand. He felt its warmth and its intensity, and as he held it aloft it illuminated the entire corridor for him. He continued on his way, the hallways mercifully empty. Most of the crew was taking advantage of their shore leave to fill up on food and drink, and maybe getting a little "dessert" before the _Blade_ made for the sea once more. Diego didn't mind. They were, after all, men and women with needs, and he relished the solitude. It wasn't that he disliked his crew. If anything, he was grateful to them for their continued patience, though he never lost sight of the fact that they should be honored to serve beneath him anyway. There were just times when he did not want to have to deal with every little concern one of his underlings had.

He was at the end of the hall, and he found himself outside the navigators' room. He pushed the iron door open and found this room to be completely dark. He gestured with the hand that carried the flame, and it shot towards the ceiling, catching the wick of the overhanging lantern afire. The room brightened immediately, and with a soft exhale Diego extinguished the tongue of fire he had carried. He looked around. Each of the room's four walls was plastered with a large map of the world. They were well-marked, and it was obvious that the navigators had spent many an agonizing hour charting out their position and turning Prince Diego's vague headings into a practicable sea route. Their ship's furnace engine meant that they did not have to bother with the trivialities of wind power, but even those mighty machines could not fight the ocean currents forever.

His eyes fell upon the port they were in right now, Leitdorf. It was relatively small, only significant because it was the southernmost port in all of the Earth Kingdoms. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining that beast in flight, and slowly put his finger on the map and traced a rough air route, based on how fast he believed them to be traveling. By his estimation, they weren't too far away. Judging by the speed, he expected that they would probably stop off in Osterlitz itself. Diego could not pursue them there; it was too far inland and he did not possess the forces to take on one of the last intact cities in the Earth Kingdoms. It was said to be second only to the impenetrable city of Erdenheim.

Then, his eyes fell upon a place further north, and close to the coast. For some reason, Diego had a strong feeling about the place. It was just off the coast, an island that fell into the territory of Osterlitz. Katarin Island, it was called, and from his history lessons, Diego remembered that this island shared its name with the last Scion to have come out of the Earth Kingdoms, a woman warrior of great skill. He supposed the place was probably her ancestral home. If it was, then the current Scion would be drawn to it, Diego supposed, due to the connection of his past life. He grinned in a satisfied manner. Yes, that would do. He tapped the image of Katarin Island once more, before turning and striding out of the map room. They would not catch the Scion, the Water Tribe warrior or the girl today, but they would catch up eventually. Eventually, they would overtake them. And when they met again, Prince Diego promised himself, things would be very different.

* * *

The sun was starting to get low in the sky. Brishen, Celia, and Jack had settled down for a brief and simple breakfast before chancing a rest of an hour or so. They had been flying for the rest of the day, making all due haste to reach Osterlitz before sundown. Large cities were reluctant to let in travelers after dark, especially in times of war. The trio was very conspicuously not from Osterlitz, and furthermore was riding in on a gigantic flying animal that the world thought extinct. Convincing the guards to grant them entry would not be easy.

"There it is!" Celia called out, her voice struck with awe. She pointed, and Jack followed her gaze. Both of them turned to look. The sight was magnificent. The grand city of Osterlitz had been carved into the face of a mountain, a stunning feat that had taken thousands of skilled geomancers hundreds of years to complete. From the distance, they could see the standards of the Earth King and Osterlitz's own ruling house flying proudly over the front gate. Sweeping arches smoothly sloped across the mountain face, and buildings carved from solid rock jutted outward, as did the twisting streets. As the sun was lowering, the lamps and lights all across the city were being lit, and all three wondered what the city looked like at night, a mountain awash in gentle light. With surprising grace, Appa came in for a landing at the base of a narrow and wending ramp to the main gate of Osterlitz. Nimbly, Brishen dismounted and waved to his two Water Tribe companions.

"Come on!" he called to them. "We have to get to—" he stopped. Celia and Jack suddenly had very worried looks on their faces. Brishen looked around, and immediately saw why. At least a dozen soldiers, dressed in dark green armor, had emerged in a large ring around them, standing in the low and solid stance that was stage one for the art of geomancy. One soldier, whose armor was slightly more ornate than the others', called out to them.

"Are you a member of the Wind Folk?" Brishen saw no point in lying; he obviously wasn't a member of the Water Tribe, nor a citizen of the Dominion or Kingdoms.

"I am," he said, drawing himself up to his full height and clutching his staff.

"We are under standing orders to bring any members of the Wind Folk and their companions before the king at once," the sergeant said tersely. "Come with us." Brishen cast a glance to his Water Tribe companions. Celia was gently sliding off the top of a water skin she carried, while Jack's hand was wrapped very firmly around the handle of his dirk. Brishen, however, didn't want a fight. He bowed his head to the sergeant.

"I understand. Take us to him." The soldiers formed up into two lines of six, encasing Appa and Brishen in a phalanx on the narrow road to the gate. Appa began plodding along, the soldiers marching in time alongside it. As the great earthen gate of Osterlitz loomed, Brishen could only wonder what would become of them now.


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

Despite how crowded the streets of Osterlitz were, the crowd parted for them wherever they went. Most looked on in awe as Appa trudged through the city, but Brishen could see a few pointing at him and whispering excitedly to each other. Deciding now would be a good time to be a bit creative, he twirled his staff lightly as he walked, stirring up an odd sort of air current, one that blew all manner of ambient conversation closer to his ears. He figured it would be good to hear what they were saying about him.

"-the Scion, it has to be-"

"-Look at its horns! There are people on it, too-"

"-Spirits be praised, the Fire Lord's done for-"

More chatter to that effect filled the air, and after a while Brishen stopped directing the sound to himself. There were so many people lining the streets that it was overwhelming to hear them all talking at once. He shook his head to clear the voices out of it, and then looked back at their winding path. The lower levels of the city stared back at him. He turned to where they were headed next, and saw the gleaming beacon of Osterlitz peak looking down upon them, burning brightly in the newly-set night. They still had a ways to walk, but they were close to the front gate.

He marveled at how much the city had changed, and yet how little. He saw that even though the buildings had changed, and perhaps the citizenry was a bit worse for the wear as the war dragged on, those same winding mountain paths that he had come to know as a boy were still there, even after a hundred years of his absence. There was something warming about that idea. Idly, he wondered if a restaurant that he had liked was still around, and resolved to look for it in the lower levels after this business with the city's ruler was concluded.

The wide gates of the palace swung wide open for them, revealing a lush garden yard lined with elegant marble paths. They all radiated outward, but led to the same place: the palace. The phalanx of guards that had been escorting them since they had arrived in the city unexpectedly broke off, and were instead replaced by twelve new soldiers, whose armor suggested that they were something akin to royal guards, true elites. Brishen wondered, not for the first time since they had started climbing, if they had been taken prisoner, and just didn't know it yet.

* * *

The palace was one of the few places that Brishen had never been able to visit during his earlier stays in Osterlitz, and for the first time on their respective journey all three companions could share a sense of wonder as they gazed upon high, arching ceilings that seemed to yawn open forever, or the gently curved walls all around them. Though he could have easily fit in this place, the great hall, Appa had been forced to wait outside. At least they had offered to let him graze, something Brishen was grateful for. Few really had the thought to care for a sky bison nowadays.

All along the walls, there were murals painted, depicting the proud history of Osterlitz. Brishen saw that history unfold, as he watched the brave lord Schumann, astride his mighty tigerhawk Panzerfaust, strove to unite the whole kingdom beneath the gleaming example of his mountain city. He saw more recent murals, depicting a month-long siege by the Dominion that had broken itself against the mountain face of Osterlitz. And there, of course, was the depiction of Franz the Scion, the only Scion to have been born in the city of Osterlitz itself. Brishen stopped his thinking for a moment. How had he known that? The Wind Folk schooled their children, but the Scion was not one of the things they studied. How was it, then, that he had seen the image of that gallant man and immediately known who he was and where he was from? And why, Brishen wondered, did he look so familiar?

"Well met, young travelers." The voice that spoke was old and echoed off the high ceilings in a most ominous fashion. Brishen, Celia, and Jack turned about, looking for the source of the voice. And yet, the entire vast chamber was completely empty. "It has been a long time, indeed, since Osterlitz has hosted a member of the Wind Folk," the reedy voice came again, "and sons and daughters of the Water Tribe are far from common here as well." Warily, Brishen looked around.

"Who are you?" he called loudly into the empty chamber. "Show yourself!" No sooner than after he had spoken, there was a grating noise, the sound of stone grinding against stone. One of the wall panels peeled itself back to reveal a man. He was old, no, ancient; beneath his flowing purple and ermine robes, he was stooped with age, his hand clawing at the top of a scepter. His face had an almost deranged look to it, and its aged and craggy shape was topped by a shock of white hair that almost looked pale green in the light. There was a mad grin on his face as he spread his arms wide.

"You must be mighty or foolish," he said as he slowly shuffled forward, "to be making demands of a king." Immediately, realizing that they were dealing with the ruler of the city, Jack dropped to one knee. Celia looked to her brother quizzically, and then decided that perhaps it was for the best. She also knelt before him. But Brishen stood tall, cocking his head slightly as he looked at the ancient ruler. Suddenly, his face lit up.

"Brüno?" The king's face visibly fell.

"What?" he asked, and the air of bravado wasn't quite as convincing anymore. Brishen was smiling now, holding back laughter.

"Brüno!" he cried jubilantly. "It has to be you!" Jack risked a glance up and saw a mischievous sort of disappointment cross King Brüno's face, like that of a child who'd been caught eating more than his fair share of strawberries.

"I can't believe you recognized me," he said. "I had an entire thing planned to drag you along for the whole night before I revealed myself. It would have been fun, too," he added, with just a hint of a pout. Brishen just laughed.

"I'm not surprised at all," he said warmly. Celia looked at King Brüno. He was no longer hunched over; once Brishen had recognized him he had drawn himself up to his full height and suddenly looked far more impressive. It crossed Celia's mind that if the two of them knew each other, then this man had to be at least a hundred years old, probably more.

"So, wait," Jack said, slowly getting to his feet. "You mean that this man…he was that friend from Osterlitz that you told me about." Brishen turned around and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "This is Brüno. We were great friends back in the day. He's a mad genius, he is." He turned back to his old friend. "And Brüno, these are my new friends, Celia and Jack of the Southern Water Tribe." With a dignified, Old World sort of grace, Brüno bowed low, and the Water Tribe siblings returned the gesture. Then, all composure lost, Brishen and Brüno embraced each other like brothers.

* * *

The king's banquet hall was even more awe-inspiring than the great hall. It was a good deal smaller, but no expense had been spared in making it as fine a room as possible. Pink marble tiles lined the floor, with interweaving lines of gold filigreed. The table cloth was a shiny, soft fabric that Brüno had called "silk." And of course, that was nothing to say about the gold-plated flatware or the piles of sumptuous, steaming food before them. The weary travelers tucked in heartily. At one end of the table, Brishen and Brüno were eagerly catching up with each other.

"I can't believe you've lived all this time, Brüno," Brishen was saying. "Are any of the others-?"

"Not as far as I know," Brüno said, a little sadly. "I lost contact with Marcos when the war broke out, for obvious reasons, but I managed to see the rest of our old friends off. You would have been happy for them, Brishen. They lived long and happy lives, for the most part." The two of them raised gilded goblets of wine to the memory of their mutual friends, and drank deeply. When they finished their wine, they set their goblets down, and the king cast his eye to Jack and Celia. "So," he asked, "how is it that the three of you came to be in my kingdom?"

"We found Brishen frozen in the middle of the ocean," Celia explained. "Him, and Appa, his bison."

"I know of Appa," Brüno said patiently. "Please, continue."

"Anyway, we were attacked by a Dominion ship. It was a special ship," Celia noted. "It wasn't like any other I'd ever seen patrolling the waters before. I didn't see much of it, since I was busy freeing Appa from the ice at the time, but I think the captain of the ship was a young man with a large scar over his eye." Jack nodded in agreement.

"She's right," he said. "I dueled with him. He said he was a prince of some kind." Brüno looked at them all with some concern.

"Prince Diego," he said. "He is the eldest son of the Fire Lord, as I've heard it, but for some reason he has been exiled. He has been all over the world in search of you, Brishen, and now that he has found you, you have gained a dogged and dedicated enemy. In particular, young Jack," he said, turning to the Water Tribe warrior, "the fact that you managed to duel with him and survive is a testament to your skill. Diego is said to be one of the finest blades in the entire Dominion." He took a chicken leg in his claw and gnawed at a piece of it thoughtfully. "You will need to tread carefully on your journey to the north pole. I take it you travel there to learn hydromancy, yes?" Brishen nodded. Then, his expression brightened as he thought of something.

"Say," he said. "You were a talented geomancer back in the day. Perhaps you could teach me geomancy?" Brüno shook his head.

"Perhaps later," he said gently. "It is unwise to interrupt the cycle in which you must learn the elements, Brishen. Each one teaches you a different virtue, and learning one without the others that are to come before it could lead to consequences you would not like." Brishen didn't understand entirely, but he had to accept Brüno's wisdom as truth for now. That was the most jarring change in their relationship. Brüno was undoubtedly still the child at heart that Brishen had known. But he was still an adult, and had seen so much more than Brishen. It was almost daunting, especially since when they were both children, Brishen had been the level-headed and sensible one.

"That said," Brüno said, "I do have a gift for you." He gestured to his valet, who came over. "Have the cooks bring us some dessert," he said, "And then bring up our esteemed guest." The valet nodded with understanding and left. Brishen watched him go, before excitedly turning back to Brüno.

"What is it?" he asked. Brüno smiled enigmatically.

"Wait and see."

Minutes later, a servant came in bearing a silver tray with four small pies sitting atop it, each one still steaming. The four of them dug in, and were rewarded with a fruity sweetness that was almost unheard of back in the Southern Water Tribe. Celia savored the flavors rolling across her tongue and down the back of her throat, closing her eyes so she could just enjoy the taste and nothing else. Across the table, Brüno grinned, pleased that his guests were enjoying the food so much. Another servant approached, this one bearing something that was beneath a silk cloth. "Brishen," Brüno said, "This is my gift to you."

In one smooth motion, the servant lifted the veil, and for the split second that all was still, it was revealed to be a cage underneath. But the servant undid the lock, and out of it zoomed something small, energetic, and white, zooming around the room excitedly like an overgrown hummingbird. Celia ducked out of instinct, Jack looked around wildly, trying to follow it, and Brishen was just confused. Brüno, on the other hand, laughed heartily as the animal, whatever it was, wreaked havoc in his dining hall. After a couple moments, the thing tackled the fruit bowl headlong, sending it and the bowl to the floor with a clatter. Jack, Celia, and Brishen leaned over the table to get a better look at it.

It had two eyes, each one green and round as a coin, with wide black pupils. Its ears were long, wide, and pointy, and its shiny coat was white, save for its long black-and-white striped tail, which was wriggling like an eager snake. The thing was on the floor, wrestling excitedly with a peach, eagerly taking bite after bite out of it. It made an odd purring noise.

"One of my men found him living in the remains of one of the Shrines of Zephyr," Brüno explained. "We believe many of his kind, these winged lemurs, were kept there as pets." A small look of wonder crossed Brishen's face. "We call him 'Momo.' And as you are one of the Wind Folk, Brishen, I feel you are far more his rightful owner than I ever could be." Cautiously, Brishen took a peach off the table and slowly approached the lemur called Momo. He held out the peach.

"Hey, little guy," he said softly. Momo looked up from its current peach, and cocked its head, interested. It discarded the first fruit, and carefully began to approach the peach. He sniffed it, and satisfied with that test he eagerly took it from Brishen and began to scarf down on it, purring again. Brishen offered his hand, and Momo adroitly crawled up it with catlike grace, settling himself on the wanderer's shoulder. "He seems happy enough," Brishen said with a laugh. He turned to the mad king. "Thanks again, Brüno."

"Not at all, Brishen," the king said. "I will have my men load you up with fresh supplies, and you can depart tomorrow morning. But before that happens," he added, suddenly turning serious, "there is something that you and I must do."

* * *

One of the most notable features about the city of Osterlitz is its ingenious system of mail delivery. A labyrinthine series of chutes and slides zigged and zagged across the face of the city, using a clever combination of gravity and geomancy to send anything and everything up and down the mountain at a moment's notice. During the siege of Osterlitz, it had been used to ferry weapons and food quickly down the mountain to soldiers on the front lines, and now in relatively peaceful times it was a great system for personal mail to be delivered.

Of course, any citizens of Osterlitz awake at roughly seven o'clock in the morning would have seen something different from any package they had ever seen zooming down those stone chutes.

The wind smacked at Brishen and Brüno's faces, the king's greenish-white hair blowing wildly about him. He threw his head back in a fit of maniacal laughter as he gripped the edge of their sliding cart. In front of him, Brishen leaned forward eagerly, willing the cart to go faster, even as they were fast approaching the end of the line. Down further and further they plunged, the slide rocketing them along as it slid along its snaking stone path. Brishen and Brüno's screams echoed all across the mountain, fading in and out with each twist of the road. At long last, the end of the line was in sight, and they were coming in much faster than any cart was meant to. Brishen pointed to it, but King Brüno never lost his cool. Raising both of his hands, he gestured grandly. As he did, the sleeves of his robes fell back, revealing strong arms that looked as though they belonged on a much younger man than he. At once, the braking sand at the end of the chute turned to a very thick mud, and with a loud squelching noise, they crashed into it, mud splattering every surface nearby.

The cart was on its side, slowly sinking into the mud. The two guards at the post looked on uncertainly, not sure of how to react as they watched a young outlander and the ruler of their city rolling around in a giant puddle of mud, laughing hysterically. Slowly, still unable to stop laughing both of them got to their feet. Brishen began wiping mud off of his clothes.

"Let's go again!"


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"_A hundred years had passed_

_A-and at long last_

_The Scion returned_

_From the distant past._

_And the wind did spread_

_Where his feet did tread_

_His return shook the world to its core._

_But Flame's exile_

_Came with fire and guile_

_For he sought the boy_

_Who was the spirits' child._

_But the Scion flew_

_For the skies, so blue_

_And escaped from doom once more._"

Brishen clapped enthusiastically as Celia's voice trailed off. "Wow," he said, struck by the simple beauty of the ballad. "You wrote that song about me?" Celia nodded.

"It's called, 'The Ballad of the Scion and the Fire Lord.' And as we continue to travel," she promised, "I'll continue to write it until the entire saga has been recorded in song. It'll be the greatest thing I've ever done," she added excitedly. Her fingers idly toyed with the strings of her new lute. An offhand comment about her love of music in the court of Osterlitz's King Brüno had found her showered suddenly with any instrument she could think of. She had had to very, very politely decline all the offerings Brüno had given her, opting to graciously accept the lute. It was, after all, the only instrument that she knew how to play. And what was more, it was the traditional instrument of the troubadours she wished to be so much like. After all, she couldn't very well sing epic tales of yore with the reed of a recorder in her mouth.

"It's a nice song and all," Jack said airily from the back of Appa's saddle, "but I think you're missing a few key details. Namely," he said, sitting up straight and jabbing a thumb into his own chest, "me. Or did you forget when I bravely fought against, what did King Brüno say? 'One of the finest blades in the Dominion'?" Celia rolled her eyes and thrummed her lute strings again.

"But Jack," she said, irony dripping from every syllable, "if I write you into Brishen's ballad, then there won't be anything left to talk about when I write your ballad." Jack seemed to completely miss the irony, and immediately brightened up, leaning forward eagerly.

"About me?" he asked keenly. "Really? Make sure to include all of my exploits as the village's protector. And also," he said, his voice growing strangely dark and quiet for a moment, "do your best to avoid mentioning the pineapple soup incident…"

"Spirits, yes," Celia said with a shudder. That had…well, that had been a bad day for Jack, and indeed the rest of the village; they still only had three walls. Jack went back to running the edge of his dirk along a whestone, while Celia quietly packed her lute back into its elegant case. Along with the instrument, she had been provided with a very fine leather case for it, far nicer than what she had hoped to find when on their travels. The instrument was not yet familiar to her touch, but she knew that someday it would be, and that it was a worthy replacement for the beloved lute she had left behind in their village.

She noticed that Appa was starting to sink lower in the sky, and turned around. Brishen was pulling on the reins, veering him to the right. "Why are we landing?" she asked Brishen. Beside her, their newest recruit, Momo, seemed to echo her sentiments with his odd half-chirp, half-purr. Out of instinct, Celia reached behind his ears and scratched them gently. Immediately, the lemur closed its eyes and leaned its head back slightly to make it easier for her.

"I don't know," Brishen admitted. "But I have a feeling, a really strong one. We're headed somewhere safe." Celia wasn't sure how to feel. She supposed she had to trust Brishen; he was, after all, the Scion. But at the same time, even someone like her, who let her heart rule instead of her brain almost every time, running off and landing somewhere because one had a "good feeling" about it was a bad idea waiting to happen. All ready, she could see their destination in the distance.

It was a small island, smaller than any of the ones that made up the archipelago that she and Jack called home. And yet, it looked to be well-populated. Buildings dotted its surface, and Celia noted that they were markedly different in design from those of Osterlitz. In fact, given their radical difference, she expected it was different from the rest of the Earth Kingdoms. The roops were sweeping and narrow, with vaguely onion-shaped domes covering certain buildings. At the center of the village, even from this distance, Celia could see a huge stone statue standing in an ever vigilant watch. Inwardly, Celia marveled at what the people of the Earth Kingdoms were capable of, and wondered why she had not traveled earlier in her life.

* * *

Appa made landfall on the beach, and a grateful Jack slid off the saddle and down Appa's long, flat tail. He seemed grateful to be able to put his feet on solid land once more. Celia was slower in dismounting, patting Appa in thanks for the ride as she did. Brishen was the last, leaping nimbly off of his spot on the back of Appa's neck and landing with a soft thud on the sandy beach. Momo spread his wings and flew in a few circles before very adroitly landing on the young Scion's shoulder. The three of them looked around. Normally, there would have been people coming to meet them, wondering what had landed on their shore. But everything was still. Even the town in the distance looked empty. Jack shuddered.

"I really don't like this," he said, and his hand instinctively fell to the hilt of his dirk. Celia heard a soft _snap _and turned to the source of it, but all she saw were a few bushes gently rustling in the wind. She shook her head to clear herself of any undue thoughts.

"Maybe we should head into town," she suggested. "There might be some people there."

"Sounds good," Brishen agreed. He turned to Appa. "Stay here for now, all right?" The sky bison grunted in response, and then settled itself down on the soft, warm beach and nestled its head between its two frontmost legs. The trio turned and started walking up the path to town. It was framed by small patches of forest, with the sun just coming through the leaves and shining on the sandy road they walked. As they were nearing town, a strange mounting tension began to fill the air. Warily, Brishen, Jack, and Celia looked around.

"Listen," Brishen said softly. "All the birds have gone silent." They listened. It was the last thing they were able to hear before the darkness overcame all three of them.

* * *

Slowly, Celia stirred. She felt a small pain in the back of her head, as though she'd been struck from behind. Her head felt hot…and why couldn't she see anything? For a moment, she panicked, thinking herself to be blinded, but after a moment, she regained her senses and realized that there was a small sack over her head. It expanded gently every time she exhaled, and it was the sack that was keeping her head so hot. She was sitting in chair, but when she tried to move her arms and legs she found them immobilized. She was bound. "The girl is awake," came a voice, one with a much more clipped accent than the Earthen speech that she had come to expect. She felt a hand yank the sack off her head, and she squinted as the light flooded into her eyes. She was breathing fresher air now, and her eyes were adjusting to the light.

Jack and Brishen were slumped over, tied to chairs as well. They were sitting in a brightly-lit hut, whose décor reminded Celia ever-so-slightly of her own. But the décor was not what caught her eye; it was their assailants. In the back of the room was a bear of a man, tall and broad with a shortly-cropped grey beard and a grey topknot. His eyes were a chilly blue, and they looked over Celia suspiciously. With him were a trio of girls, each looking to be no older than Jack. They were young and beautiful, and all of them were marked with a strange sigil in red dye on their forehead. They wore a patchwork combination of armor and furs, a throwback to a style obviously very old. They all had round shields strapped to their backs, swords thrust into their sashes, and an axe hanging at their side. The leader of the trio had soft golden hair that was cropped short in a warrior's cut, and her intense eyes matched the man, who was undoubtedly her father. She approached Celia slowly, her hand sliding to the haft of her axe with a warrior's practiced motion.

"Who are you?" the girl asked bluntly, sharing the strange clipped accent of her father. "And what business do you have here on Katarin Island?" Celia blinked, confused for a moment, and cast a glance at Jack and Brishen to see if they were awake yet.

"My name is Celia," she said carefully, eyeing the shining edge of the axe blade. "I and my brother Jack are of the Southern Water Tribe. And our third companion is named Brishen." She bit her lip; she wasn't sure if she should say the next part, but she felt it could save their lives. "He is the Scion." The leader's eyes went wide, and she, her father, and her cohorts began to chatter excitedly in some incomprehensible, guttural language while gesturing at Brishen. Slowly, carefully, the elder man removed Brishen's sack, and his now-exposed head lolled softly against his chest. "Look at his clothes, at his face," Celia called helpfully. "You can see that he's one of the Wind Folk." The blonde girl held up a hand for silence. Not content to just sit there, bound, Celia began to mentally search for the nearest source of water. If these people meant them harm, Celia was not going to just let it happen.

The blonde grabbed Brishen's face gently and propped it up, leaning in close to him. Slowly, Brishen groggily opened his grey eyes, to find them immediately level with and staring into the girl's own icy blue. "Answer me truthfully," the girl said dangerously. "Who are you?" Brishen was taken aback by this rude awakening.

"Well," he stammered. "I'm Brishen, and I, uh, I'm one of the Wind Folk…and I'm the Scion." Immediately, the girl righted herself.

"He speaks truth," she said, obviously trying to keep the growing happiness out of her voice. "Untie them and welcome them as heroes!" Celia cocked her head, confused. Welcome them as heroes? That was a complete reversal of everything. She felt her ropes being untied by surprisingly gentle hands, and gratefully stood up, stretching her cramped muscles. Brishen did much the same, but Jack still slumbered in his chair.

"We had to hit him hard to knock him out," the girl said, a tone of apology in her voice. She smiled sheepishly, and despite herself, Celia found herself laughing. The girl bowed low. "My name is Sasha," she said, "And I am leader of the Katarin Island warriors." She gestured to the bearish man in the back, who no longer looked so fierce, but rather jolly and welcoming. "This is my father, Ivan Antonin Straghov. He is the head of our village." The man bowed deeply.

"My deepest apologies to you," he said, and his deep voice had an even more pronounced accent. "We are by nature very suspicious of outsiders, but you will find no place in the world with greater reverence for the Scion." Slowly, Jack was starting to awaken, dumbly looking around the room.

"It's no problem," Brishen said diplomatically. "We know it was just a misunderstanding." Celia marveled at his powers of forgiveness. She felt no feelings of ill will towards these people, but she wouldn't have been so quick to just absolve these people of their guilt. Nonetheless, she busied herself with helping a very confused Jack to his feet. The girl, Sasha, gestured to them.

"Allow me to show you our village."

* * *

"This island is the birthplace of the last Scion to have hailed from the Earth Kingdoms, Katarin the Scion," Sasha was explaining to them. They were outside now, in the center of town, standing in the shadow of the tall and impressive statue of the island's heroine. She had a regal, but gentle look on her face, brandishing her sword magnificently in one hand while her other was outstretched, a stone dove lighting from its gauntleted fingers. "The island was renamed after her, but it has always been very independent of the rest of the confederacy. We have our own language, our own customs…our own culture." This much was apparent to the visitors. Though ethnically the inhabitants of Katarin Island bore resemblance to their mainland counterparts, almost everything else was different. "The Katarin Island warriors honor her memory by fighting as she did, for the same reasons she did." Brishen stared up into the eyes of the statue.

"What did she fight for?" he asked.

"To keep her home safe and untouched by the troubles of the outside world," Sasha said proudly. "In the centuries since her passing, the warriors have successfully repelled two Dominion incursions on the island, as well as protect it from the various Earth Kings when they get too greedy."

Jack wasn't paying attention as she talked. At least, he wasn't paying attention to her words. No, he was paying attention to how her short blonde hair rippled every time a breeze passed through, how her eyes sparked with fire every time she spoke Katarin's name, the confident warrior's swagger she bore herself with. Sasha looked over to him and seemed to take his interest as an extreme fascination with the topic at hand.

"You look like the warrior type," she said, looking him up and down. Jack sprang back to life.

"Well," he said in a self-satisfied way, "I'm not one to brag, but I have been known to fight well in my day." Sasha smirked.

"Good," she said. "Then surely you will not reject to the challenge of a friendly duel." Jack stopped for a moment, idly toying with the sheath of his dirk.

"Er, I suppose-well—"

"Then it is settled," Sasha said with a smile. "I will be very interested to see what a proud warrior of the Water Tribe can do. I'll see you in an hour." She turned and left, a strange glimmer in her eyes. Jack stared after her as she went, and he felt a certain warmth in him as he watched her go. Celia knew exactly what was going on, and snickered a little bit before rolling her eyes and excusing herself to go see the rest of the village. Brishen leaned on his staff.

"They seem like really nice people," he said genuinely.

"Yeah," Jack said distantly, "she does."

* * *

The island was growing ever closer in the distance, becoming a larger fixture on the horizon. Prince Diego looked through a brass telescope. It was an ingenious invention, a true tribute to the natural ingenuity of the people of his nation. Through its magnified lenses, he saw the very distinct form a gigantic white sky bison peacefully grazing on the shore, and he felt a wave of vindictive pleasure wash over him; his hunch had proved very correct.

"Cut the engine!" Diego called. "The smoke will alert them to our presence. The current will bring us to shore." At once, engineers swarmed off to fulfill his orders, and Diego began walking back to his quarters to armor up. This time, he promised himself, he would be ready.


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"You've fought with a longsword before, right?" Sasha asked as she took one down from the wall of the training hall. She had stripped herself of her armor and furs, leaving her clad in a very simple tunic and greaves. Nervously, Jack eyed the training weapon in her hands. It was long, two-edged, and had no tip. It wouldn't draw blood, but it would definitely hurt whatever it hit. It looked downright foreign to him. Carefully, he took a matching one down from the wall.

"Oh, well, not a lot, I might have…er…" he trailed off. He felt the weapon in his hand, and it was alien to him. The balance was completely different from his dirk, and he could all ready tell most of his power was going to come from his wrist and elbow, not his shoulder. He took a couple trial passes with it. He didn't like the feeling very much, but he didn't really have a choice. If he backed down in the face of this girl, Sasha, after she had challenged him to a friendly match, he would look like less of a man in her eyes.

And with eyes like hers, he certainly didn't want to be in that situation.

Sasha crouched with a veteran's poise. Awkwardly, Jack tried to mimic her stance. He pointed his blunted blade at her, and waited for a long tense moment. With a yell, she thrust at him, and he just barely parried the blow. He sidestepped to try and use her momentum against her, but she v-stepped along with him, transferring all that motion into a sideways slash to make up for the missed thrust. Jack frantically disengaged and backed up, before attempting a counterattack of his own. She ducked underneath his slash with almost contemptuous ease, and came in close for a blow at his shoulder. He twisted himself quickly, and instead the blade managed to graze him. Still, it hurt.

As she came in for the backswing, he parried inside her guard and brought himself closer to force her down to the floor with his greater strength. Nimbly, she wedged herself beneath him and flipped him over her head with a simple twisting motion. He landed hard on his back, the breath going out of him. He saw the upside-down image of her thrusting her sword out to his neck to claim victory, and with a wild sort of speed knocked the blow aside. He rolled back, landing in a crouch before standing up and raising his blade at her once again.

"You fight very well," Sasha said. There was an enigmatic smile on her face as the two slowly began to circle each other. "I had despaired at the thought of ever meeting a capable warrior in my lifetime. Especially," she added coyly, "one who is so good-looking." Jack felt himself flush slightly. Had she just said--?

He didn't have time to think any longer, because immediately she had closed the distance between them and lashed out again. He leaned to the side and the blow barely passed him. He leaned in for a riposte, swinging his sword bodily with two hands. His blade met hers, and the resounding _clang_ echoed throughout the entire village.

* * *

Brishen and Celia sat at lunch with Ivan. He had put forth a small feast of boar, cheese, bread, and a few local fruits for them. They had also been poured wine, which Ivan had promised was among the finest in the land. Certainly, it had not disappointed. Ivan himself drank a strong-smelling beverage that he called "vodka." He had offered some to Celia and Brishen, but upon smelling how strong it was, both had politely declined and opted for more wine. A loud clang, the sound of clashing blades, cut across their conversation. Ivan turned his head in the direction of the village's training hall, where the noise had issued from.

"That will be my Sasha," he said fondly, a smile creeping into his features. "She has always been very skilled with the blade…" Brishen, who had always felt a tad uncomfortable about edged weapons, politely nodded, while Celia took a generous chunk of cheese into her mouth. She swallowed after a moment.

"How has the war affected the island?" she asked.

"It has not," Ivan said, a touch of pride in his voice. "The Dominion has tried twice before to conquer us in our history, and once a greedy king attempted to annex us. But ultimately, we are an island who stands alone in the world, and we are very proud of it."

"But your warriors are very skilled," Brishen said. He was careful in choosing his words; he did not want his next suggestion to come across as an insult. "Surely they could do no amount of good on the front lines of the war with their abilities?" Ivan shook his head.

"The warriors are needed here to protect the island. The Dominion will never touch this place, and if it ever does, then the Katarin Island warriors will protect it." Brishen just nodded his head again and went back to enjoying his boar. He felt differently on the matter, but he decided that it wasn't his place to tell this man where he should deploy his own warriors. _Even if they're based on one of my predecessors_, he thought to himself.

"A place untouched by the war," Celia said to no one in particular. "I didn't think it was still possible to find any such place in the world."

"They are rare, young Celia," Ivan said. "We like to think of ourselves as an oasis of peace and safety for those who dwell here. Even if we were not at war with the Dominion of Fire, we would be suspicious of any outlanders. Even the king's tax collectors have stopped coming here. But of course," he laughed, "we are not complaining about that."

"Enjoy your stay here while you can," he added, taking another drink of vodka. "It is not very often on your journey that you will find complete peace from the Dominion."

* * *

The small landing craft floated gently into the shallows, and with a surprisingly loud splash several pairs of boots hit the water and sunk slightly into the muddy ground. They had been careful to loop around the island, avoiding the careful eyes of the sky bison still laying on the beach, and they now moved as quietly as possible. Still more swarmed out of the landing craft, until there was a very large contingent of Dominion soldiers standing on the once-untouched beaches of Katarin Island. Diego was one of the last to disembark, and he felt cold water swirl in his boots as he strode ashore. Once on firm land, he closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, and a small cloud of steam rose from his feet as he almost instantly evaporated all of the water that had pooled in there. He surveyed his men with a critical eye.

"We move hard, we move fast," he said without a single shred of doubt in his voice that precisely that would happen. "We will stop at nothing to capture the Scion." As one, the entire unit saluted, and then formed up behind their leader. Diego began the march up the nearest hill, the one that would take them to the village that he knew the Scion was holed up in.

* * *

A horn sounded throughout the village, and immediately Ivan stood. He drained the last of his vodka in a single go, grimacing only slightly as he swallowed the strong spirit. He looked out the window grimly. "There is trouble," he said. "I must see to my village. You should go to safety, young Scion." Brishen shook his head and rose as well.

"I'm the Scion. Like other Scions before me, I will defend this place." Ivan took this with a nod, and then turned to go. As he walked out the door, Brishen walked over to the corner of the room to get his staff. Celia stood.

"I'll go get Jack. We'll see you on the front line," she said. Brishen turned around, surprise on his face.

"What do you mean, 'we?'" he asked. "You can't put yourself in harm's way like that." For the first time, Celia felt annoyance flare up within her at Brishen. He'd only met her last week. What did _he_ know?

"You know, I can fight," she said testily. Brishen shook his head.

"That Diego is a dangerous one to cross. I can't have you risking yourself like that." Celia crossed her arms defiantly.

"Really? You can't?" she asked skeptically. "And how do you know it's even Diego? There are thousands of roving ships from the Dominion's fleet." That caused Brishen to pause. How come he was so sure that his scarred pursuer was the one who was bearing down on the island?

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just have a very strong feeling about it." He twirled his staff, and the glider's wings popped out. "Help get the village's inhabitants to safety," he said, concern etched on his face. Before Celia could say anything else, he had run out and taken wing.

* * *

Jack was starting to feel a little tired. This ceremonial duel moved at a faster pace than real combat, and the rules were killing him. In a melee, there were no rules, no regimented forms to adhere to. You struck at your opponent with whatever was at hand, and you struck to make sure he couldn't strike at you. He had no doubts that Sasha could fare just fine in a situation like that, but her mastery of this setting meant he would have to change tactics. When she came in for a slash, he v-stepped, aiming a shot at the small of her back. She dropped immediately to her stomach, and his slash passed through thin air. She waved her own sword at his ankles to get him to jump back, and then rolled onto her feet and thrust upward at Jack. He grinned. He could work this. He parried the blow, and came in for the ending thrust.

Suddenly, a horn sounded in the air, and he stopped for a moment, listening to it. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Sasha had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to disengage from his thrust and belted him across the gut with the flat of her blade. He looked up and saw her standing over him, practice sword nonchalantly slung over her shoulder. He managed to sputter, "You cheated," between breaths. She flashed a coy smile.

"You let me." Then, her face grew grim. "That horn means that someone is on the island that should not be. I must go." Jack got himself to his feet, walked over to his effects, and started buckling on his weapons.

"I'll go with you," he said. He slid his sword belt into place and looped his quiver about his shoulder. But even as he did all of that, he watched in amazement as Sasha readied herself for battle with amazing rapidity. Her armor and furs were on her and perfectly in place in a second, and she held her true sword, an elegant weapon with a golden hilt, and her single-bladed axe at the ready. Experimentally, Jack pulled back his bowstring. Sasha eyed it, with its pulleys in place.

"That is an interesting bow," she said.

"Thanks," Jack said as he slung it over his shoulder. "It's of my own design. Lets me pull back with half the resistance, and shoot with twice the force." Sasha strapped her round shield across her back.

"Maybe when this is over, you can show me how well you shoot." With that, she turned and ran out of the door towards the scene of the battle, Jack right behind her the whole way.

* * *

Diego cursed beneath his breath. They were encountering much heavier resistance than he had anticipated a small island to have. He and his cohort of men had been ambushed by a troupe of warriors. They had all been young women and girls, armed to the teeth and apparently very skilled. His men held the advantages of numbers and the ability to use pyromancy, but the enemy knew the terrain and with their guerrilla style of fighting, it was impossible to tell how many of them there really were. Diego punched the air, firing off a narrow lance of flame into the trees, and he was rewarded with a cry of pain. Seeing something flashing in the trees, he ducked quickly, and an axe embedded itself in a tree directly behind where he had just stood.

He had not heard much about Katarin Island prior to his arrival. He'd heard that they were a stubborn lot, and not taken to outsiders. And from the name, he figured that it housed a shrine to one of the more recent Scions in history. What he did not know was that they had a well-trained unit of warriors at the ready to defend the place. As long as they tried to stave off attacks in the forest, they were going to be overwhelmed eventually. "Forward!" called Diego. "And torch every tree you see as you go!" As one, his troops began to march forward, sending tongues of flame out in every direction as they did. Small branches began to catch fire, and then larger ones. Leaves turned black and shriveled, and blew away as dusty ash in the wind. The beginnings of a forest fire were upon Katarin Island.

The path was clear now, and Diego could see the first glimpses of the village. It was a little larger than he had expected, and he could see there were more warriors rushing to defend it. But his tactic of laying waste to the forests was flushing the young women out of their hiding places, and he could see that he truly did have superior numbers on his side. In the face of an enemy so different and alien from everything he had encountered on his journey so far, it was a heartening thought. The figures heading towards them now appeared to be more organized, however, instead of just a defense detail. His keen eyesight picked out the very unique outline of the Scion, flying above them all. He grinned when he saw his foe, and felt a renewed sense of purpose. Drawing his rapier, he slashed violently at the air, and a raging arc of flame engulfed the treeline. His troops marched on around him, and he resolved in his mind that he would burn this island to the ground, and turn the sand to glass beneath his feet.

* * *

With his typical lightness, Brishen landed next to Jack, twirling his staff to retract its wings. A small cloud of dust was kicked up by his landing. He straightened and looked to Jack. "How many?" he asked.

"A lot," Jack said grimly as he pulled an arrow out of quiver. "Numbers-wise, things don't look good." He notched the arrow, pulled back the string, and fired. The arrow sailed through the air, its long and arcing path taking it down onto an enemy soldier's shoulder. Brishen heard Jack curse under his breath and adjust his aim before firing off a subsequent shot. His scattered arrow fire would not do much to thin out the ranks, however, and the Katarin Island warriors were not equipped with any long-range weapons, unless they opted to throw their axes in combat. This was going to be decided up close, and not even Katarin Island could come away unscathed this time.

"Charge!" Sasha yelled, leveling her sword at the oncoming pyromancers. Amid a field of explosive flame and shining blades, the valiant warriors of Katarin Island advanced, and Brishen the Scion and Jack of the Southern Water Tribe were with them.


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

The Katarin battle line smashed into the advancing Dominion forces, but soon battle lines were forgotten and the entire fight began to devolve into a tangled, confused melee. Blasts of fire flew hither and thither, while the Katarin warriors lashed out with swords, axes, and shields. Jack saw Sasha in the center of the melee, fighting with a ferocity he had not expected from a girl her age. She blocked a tongue of fire with her shield, and then stabbed out with her sword in return. Another assailant came running at her, but with almost contemptuous ease she wedged the edge of her shield underneath his center of gravity and flipped him harshly on his back before stabbing down to finish him off. Seeing another of her warriors in trouble, she brought back her shield arm, and with the sun glinting off its bronzed face, she cast it. It spun like a blade in the air, and struck an enemy soldier in the back of the head. He crumpled as if pole-axed, and Sasha ripped her axe off her belt before throwing herself further into the fight, whirling like a dervish of death.

An attacker sneaking up on Sasha suddenly fell, transfixed by the arrow in his back, and Jack, satisfied, added another kill to his running tally. The fight was getting awfully close to him, however, and soon he would have to forego the arrows in favor of his trusty dirk. He fired off another shot and immediately moved to reload, not even stopping to see if he had hit his mark or not. He was usually careful in his aim, but the forces were getting mixed and there was a very real risk of hitting one of the Katarin Island warriors. However, he felt that if he hurried, he could get off one last shot, and truly make it count. Taking careful aim, he pulled back the string, and set a bead on Prince Diego. Just seeing the prince's scarred visage made feelings of anger bubble up within Jack. He let the arrow fly, and watched as it soared towards its intended target.

* * *

Diego saw the arrow flashing, and moved just in time. He threw himself to the ground, and the arrow embedded itself in a nearby burning tree. Slowly, he clambered back to his feet, dusting himself off. He looked about the swirling melee. It was too difficult to tell who was winning at this point. But he didn't particularly care about winning. He felt for his men, but compared to his main priority, they took a very distant backseat. No, he was scanning the fight for one individual…and there he was. Diego watched as the Scion used air to redirect a bolt of flame that had been inches from his face, and then skillfully knocked over several of his opponents with a sudden gust. Diego was fairly sure he had the measure of his foe's fighting style now. He fought to disorient, to disarm, and to incapacitate, but he did not believe that this Scion would kill. Diego was not supposed to kill either; doing so would merely start the cycle anew with a member of the Water Tribe. That leveled out the playing field; they were both fighting for the same thing.

"Scion!" he called. Brishen raised his head and saw Diego coming towards him. A flicker of recognition passed between them, and Brishen started running to meet his adversary. The two clashed in the middle of the colossal fight, the edge of Diego's silver rapier carving a tiny notch in Brishen's sturdy staff. Brishen breathed in deeply, and then blew hard. A huge gust, improbably large, issued from his mouth, pushing Brishen back and Diego off-balance. He quickly regained his composure, and then made several slashes in the air, sending a spinning spiral of fire corkscrewing its way towards the Scion. The aeromancer brought his staff to bear, sending out an arc of wind that caused the flames to dissipate. Diego began to close the distance between them, intent on keeping him firmly within his grasp now that he had finally been cornered. He lashed out with the tip of his blade, and managed to draw blood from a graze on Brishen's shoulder. Brishen grimaced and blasted Diego with another gust of air, but this time the prince was ready for it. He thrust his sword into the ground, using it to anchor himself in place while his scarlet cloak whipped wildly behind him. He stood up once it had subsided, and yanked his blade up again.

"What's the matter, Scion?" he taunted softly. "Where are your other three elements?" He breathed in, pointed two fingers at his foe, and fired a small but deadly-accurate burst of fire from it…only for it to go awry. Something had shoved his wrist to the side, causing him to aim wide. He cursed and turned to see what had done it. Standing there in answer was the girl from the Water Tribe village. She was poised, her dark hair let down to her back, a look of concentration on her face. A long tendril of water coiled itself around her in midair, suspended by her hydromancy. Before Diego could say much more, she lashed at him with the water again, but in mid-flight the cascade turned into a small shower of icicles. Thinking quickly, Diego exhaled a sheet of flame, and though it did not completely melt the icicles, the small chunks of ice that did hit him were blunt and melting as each moment passed. She was undaunted, though; she had taken a place next to Brishen, and it looked as though the two were going to fight him in tandem. That wouldn't do.

He stomped his foot, causing a fiery fan to shoot out and across the ground. Brishen leapt above it easily, while Celia had to dive to the side to avoid it. Her water collapsed as she lost her concentration, turning the soil beneath her to mud. But just as quickly, she was on her feet again, and with a concerted pulling gesture, she painstakingly extracted the water from the ground, leaving it as dry as it was before. That was something that Diego hadn't seen before, and he had encountered a few hydromancers in his travels. He raised his blade to parry a water strike being directed his way, but it curved around his sword and slapped him across the face hard enough to make his stance buckle. Before he quite had a chance to recover, the Scion twirled his staff, gaining momentum, and unleashed an air blast so powerful that not just Diego, but everyone within ten feet was blown to the ground. He stood at the epicenter of a circle of confused fighters, strewn about in the dirt. He reached down and offered a hand to Celia, which she gratefully took.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"It's no trouble…look out!" Diego had scrambled back to his feet and sent one, two, three searing fire blasts at the pair. Brishen deflected the first with his staff, while Celia neutralized the second with a quick lash from her water whip, but the third one struck the ground in front of both of them, and there was an explosion of dust and clods of earth beneath their feet. Brishen shot out a pair of air currents to steady himself, and with the motion of drawing back curtains, sent out another pair of gusts to clear away the dust instantly. He looked over and saw that Celia had been blown a good few feet away, but she was all ready being helped to her feet by one of the Katarin Island warriors. Brishen didn't have any more time to see how she was doing; Diego was on the attack again, and Brishen was fighting for his life.

* * *

Celia was helped to her feet, but she was still a little dazed. If nothing else, this Prince Diego was a powerful pyromancer. She readied her water to dive back into the fray to help Brishen, but then her eyes fell upon Jack, who was locked in combat with a burly sergeant. She watched as he swiped at the man with his dirk, leaving a long scratch on the man's breastplate. The man came in with a gauntleted blow from his fist, but Jack ducked and thrusted, and the short but sharp blade bit home at the join in the man's armor where arm met shoulder. Jack withdrew the dirk and the sergeant fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. Jack turned, looking for a new foe, and saw his sister. "Celia!" he called to her as he rushed over. "What're you doing here? You need to get to safety!"

"Ugh!" she fumed. "I can fight, can't you see that? For your information, I just dueled with Prince Diego and held my own, so I think I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. Also—" she made a rough motion, as though she were backhanding the air to the side of her face, and as she did, a column of water rose up from inside her water skin and hit an oncoming enemy square in the face. He dropped to the ground in a heap. Celia smirked. "Satisfied?" she asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

"Very…" Jack said, sniffing the air for a moment. "Hey, sis, what's that on your breath?" Celia blushed a little.

"Oh, that?" she said, a little sheepishly. "It's called vodka. They make it here on the island. I took a little for…erm, courage." She coughed a little awkwardly, but completely contrary to her expectations, a look of devious comprehension was starting to dawn on Jack's face. Celia knew what that look meant. It meant that he was getting an idea. "What?" she asked. "What is it?" It was his turn to grin now.

"Tell me, sis," he said. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a pyromancer?"

* * *

The duel between Diego and Brishen was…inconclusive. No matter how hard the two tried, neither seemed to be able to best the other. Brishen would call upon his reserves of strength, only to find himself matched by the Fire Prince. Likewise, Diego would think his opponent finally cornered, only for Brishen to suddenly fight back with a renewed ferocity. His greater agility and skill with a staff had meant that Diego's rapier had been unable to touch him, while Diego was quite unharmed from being buffeted around by air blast after air blast. It appeared that they were evenly matched.

Diego shuffled forward and twirled his rapier with his wrist. But instead of going for a shot at Brishen, he scraped the tip of his sword along the ground, sending up a cloud of dust to the Scion's face in hopes of momentarily blinding him. Brishen exhaled, and the dust immediately dissipated in the face of his wind-breath. Diego slashed and then counterslashed at his target in strikes designed to wound the chest and legs, but Brishen dodged the first shot and blocked the second with the lower haft of his staff. The Scion twisted his staff, and Diego felt his weapon being wrenched out of his hands. The sword flew through the air, landing point down in the ground several feet away. Brishen smirked. Advantage, him.

The prince, however, was undaunted. He leapt forward, sparks and fire flaring up where his feet hit the ground. He twisted himself down, and then up in a lolling motion, and as he brought himself to bear he shot forth ten blasts of fire, one from each of his fingertips. Brishen felt fear, even downright panic as he saw that burning storm closing in on him, feeling that unnatural heat on his sweat-soaked head. He slammed his staff on the ground and kicked off hard, soaring into the air. He felt the searing heat on the tips of his toes, even through his tough walking boots, and knew he had just had a close call. But Diego aimed up at him and began to fire off blast after blast. With a cry of surprise, Brishen hastily spun himself about, weaving nimbly through an increasingly tight web of burning flames. But after managing to pull off a few very tricky maneuvers, ones that he would have to try and figure out again when he wasn't fearing for his life, Brishen noticed that Diego had stopped firing at him. Chancing a look down, he saw why.

* * *

Celia twirled her arms about her lithe body, and angry wheels of flowing flame twirled like streamers around her before shooting out towards the enemy. The Dominion soldiers had seen many things, but never had they been attacked by a foe using pyromancy, and the very thought of someone turning their own sacred art against them was almost unthinkable. It was most fortunate for them, then, that Celia was not actually pyromancer, and never would be.

_I never thought to try bending vodka,_ she thought to herself as she washed a group of enemy troops with a wave of burning spirits. It had been Jack's idea. He had realized how flammable this vodka stuff was, and he'd been able to deduce that there was water in it, making it malleable with her abilities. When one combined both of Jack's brilliant notions, the result was…well, what she was doing right now. While she sowed confusion in the ranks of Diego's troops, Jack worked hard to keep any potential threats at bay. He furiously established a perimeter around his sister with flashing arrow and swinging blade. He was dueling with another guard, and this one was fighting well. Jack was frustrated at his seeming inability to get past his opponent's defense, and not for the first time today wished his tribe had had more metal so that he could have been given a weapon with a longer reach.

He saw a rare opening, and made to strike. But even as he brought back his dirk for the blow, something else struck in precisely the same spot he was going to. He saw the long sabre blade, and followed it up to the arm that held it, and then to Sasha's exquisite face. "I had him," Jack said, a little defensively.

"You could also say thank you," she replied pointedly. He shrugged, as though to say, "Fair enough." The two fought back to back, defending each other and lashing out at foes in equal measure. _She's really good at fighting as part of a team,_ Jack noted. It made sense; she had trained her entire life to be a member of an elite troupe of warrior women. But he felt a strong camaraderie for her, the way he would with an old war buddy. Of course, he didn't have any old war buddies, but he imagined that if he did it would be similar. The fight became second nature to him, his body moving faster than his mind could keep track of. Faintly he heard someone calling his name.

"Jack!" Celia called while frantically working her hydromancy to aid as many beleaguered warriors as possible. The battle was in their favor for now, but the superior numbers of the Dominion forces were starting to tell. "Get to Appa! We need to get Brishen out of here!" Without completely understanding what he had just heard, but knowing that he had to obey it, Jack nodded grimly and began running for the other side of the island, using his dirk to cut through burning greenery as he did. He barely even realized that Sasha was running alongside him, so singleminded was he now.

Up ahead, he saw several unconscious Dominion soldiers. The skidmarks in the sand suggested that they had been thrown very forcefully by something very strong, and it didn't take Jack long to see what it had been. Appa rounded on them, and though he recognized Jack, he growled threateningly at Sasha. Almost instantly regaining full lucidity, Jack threw up his hands to pacify the beast. "It's all right, it's all right," he called to Appa. "She's a friend!" Grudgingly, Appa pawed at the ground with his frontmost hoof before relaxing slightly. Jack turned to Sasha.

"Sasha," he said. "You should come with us. We could use a warrior with your skills on our trip." Sasha's gaze met his, and there was a small amount of sadness written on her features.

"Jack," she began, "I'm sorry, but I cannot. My place is here, at the head of the Katarin Island warriors. You see how fragile the safety of this island is. Without us, this place could be overrun." Jack bit back everything he wanted to say: that Katarin Island wasn't a big military advantage, that she and her warriors would be more useful on the front lines, that she was being short-sighted. But instead of all of those things, he merely said:

"I want you to come."

"And I want to come," Sasha said. "But I cannot." Before Jack could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Don't say anything more. You and your friends must escape now." Jack straightened up, scrambled aboard Appa, and grabbed the reins.

"Yip yip." Appa lifted off, his vast shadow crossing over the beach, leaving the shrinking figure of Sasha behind. Jack sighed, allowing himself one brief, sweet moment of emotionality. Then, he turned back to the matter at hand. He saw the swirling melee below him, and prepared to come in for a landing.

* * *

Nothing could have disrupted the flow of the battle quite like the landing of a gigantic sky bison would have. Both sides were thrown into disarray and confusion over what it was and whose side it was on, but it was not long before they spotted Jack at the reins and connected things on their own. Jack saw Brishen flying above them, preparing to come in for a landing, while Celia had discarded the last of her burning vodka and returned to using her familiar weapon of water. She broke her hydromancy stance and began running for Appa, and completely by instinct the Katarin Island warriors closed ranks around her, providing her with the cover she would need to escape. She dove onto Appa's tail, rushing up it and landing belly-down on the saddle. Brishen touched down daintily, and Jack hastily shook the reins. As suddenly as he had appeared, Appa was airborne once more, his precious cargo clinging for dear life.

"Back to the ship!" Diego called, before turning and running back the way they came. Immediately, all of his troops that could disengaged their attackers and began rushing towards the _Burning Blade_. As Diego ran, he fired off a mushroom-shaped burst of fire into the air. That was the signal for the engineers of the ship to ready it immediately for departure. He had learned from the previous encounter and vowed to himself that he would not let the Scion escape him this time. His men frantically worked as rearguard against the Katarin counter-assault, but as soon as they were within range of the _Blade_'s heavier weapons, batteries began firing off. The Katarin warriors retreated under a hail of alchemical fire and explosions, but they were nonetheless victorious. They had succeeded in driving the Dominion from that precious island that they called home.

* * *

Belching massive plumes of black smoke, Diego's ship cut across water as its engine was being pushed to its very limit. His dark locks blew strongly in the wind as he kept his eyes fixated on the sky. He could see the outline of the sky bison becoming clearer and clearer, and if they kept up this pace they would soon be able to bombard the beast with their long-range weaponry. He fought down the urge to demand more speed; he knew that the engineers had almost overloaded the ship's fuel tank in order to get them moving as fast as possible. He took one cautious look back behind him to see Katarin Island all ready disappearing into the distance. Fine by him. He was glad to be rid of the place. He had lost a few good men in the battle due to the unexpected resistance. He made a mental note to someday return to that place after his honor was restored and reduce the entire place to ash as punishment for the difficulties its inhabitants had caused him.

He turned his gaze back to the fleeing form of the Scion and his sky bison. He narrowed his eyes in frustration and dislike. They were almost within range to fire, he told himself, and then they would be able to run their quarry to ground. So it was to his great surprise when he saw a great arcing blast of flame shoot for the sky bison, which it had to roll over in midair to avoid. Diego turned around wildly to his waiting gunners. "Which one of you fired without my signal!?" he bellowed over the roar of the ocean wind. The gunners looked around helplessly. The gunnery sergeant nervously scratched the back of his head.

"That wasn't us, Prince Diego." He pointed back out at the ocean, and Diego turned to see. There was a flotilla of ironclads in front of them, including one far bigger than his own ship. From that flagship flew the banner of the Dominion of Fire, but next to it flew another one, a standard that was obviously personal livery of the admiral of the ship. Diego's eyes narrowed in even more hatred as he cast his eyes on that symbol: a serpent coiling itself around a burning tree. It was the mark of the one man in this world that Diego despised more than the Scion.

The _Blade _pulled up alongside the vast ship, and two towering warriors in gold and red armor threw across a rope bridge, which Diego's own crew secured on the deck of their own ship. The two warriors made the crossing first, taking up positions flanking the walkway with their hands folded behind their backs. Diego and Inigo stood by as the man in question, resplendent with his black, gold, and scarlet livery, beginning his walk across the improvised bridge. Prince Diego spat with hatred.

"Hector."


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Prince Diego fumed as Count Hector strode aboard his ship. His cruel face carried that same haughty and predatory smirk that it always had, as though he knew something that everyone else did not, and it just happened to be what he needed to absolutely crush everyone else. He and Diego did not bother with the customs of bowing to each other as fellow nobles, nor saluting each other as fellow military officers. Without any other courtesans around, they felt no need to stick to formalities.

"Diego," Hector said breezily. "I didn't expect to find you sailing in these waters."

"_Prince _Diego to you," Diego corrected dangerously. "You might think highly of yourself, Hector, but even you must still bow to the the Fire Lord's son." An odd sort of look flickered across Hector's face for just a moment, and then it was gone.

"Of course, my prince," Hector drawled, with absolutely no trace of sincerity in his voice. "I meant no disrespect. So tell me, how has your hunt for the Scion been going?"

"It would be going a lot better if your damn fleet hadn't gotten in my way while I was in pursuit of him," Diego said. His voice was a deadly sort of calm, but his fists were balled up and shaking slightly at his sides. Thin plumes of smoke started to curl from his hands. Hector eyed Diego's mounting anger with a frustrating coolness.

"My apologies, Prince Diego," he said, his voice soaked with irony. " But as you know, the Scion is not solely your quarry. It is the honor-bound duty of any good and loyal citizen of our proud Dominion to attempt to capture the Scion at any chance that they have." Diego could all ready see where this was going. He took a step forward.

"You stay away from the Scion, Hector," he said, his voice as sharp and grating as a sudden winter gust. "Don't you have an invasion to run?"

"True," Hector said. "I have been entrusted with overseeing the invasion of the Earth Kingdoms, as a truly trusted and valuable member of the Fire Lord's court. Of course, I sometimes wonder if the Fire Lord realizes how truly valuable I am…"

"Hector." The voice had a tone of warning in it, but it did not belong to Diego. Hector and the prince both looked over, and it was Inigo who had spoken, his arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head at Hector, and to Diego's surprise, Hector backed off slightly.

"In any case, I am still acting commander of the Earth Kingdoms invasion force," he began again. "But as it would appear that your latest escapades have scared the Scion away from the sea, that would put him squarely within the bounds of my theater of operations." Hector grinned a little wider. Diego seethed inside, but knew that this was precisely what his hated rival wanted of him. He changed tactics. His eyes fell on the sabre in Hector's belt.

"That's an interesting sword," Diego said. "Is it new?" Hector allowed himself a generous helping of pride in his facial expressions.

"I had it commissioned as a gift for myself after I succeeded in sacking Niederdorf without losing a single sailor," Hector replied smugly. Diego smirked.

"A shame you can't use it to its full potential. I'd heard that you haven't progressed in years." Hector felt his own face flush with anger now. One of his dearest ambitions in life was to dethrone Diego as the Dominion's pre-eminent swordsman. To this end, he had studied under four different masters and drilled himself relentlessly in the art of fencing. The two had dueled a few times, but that had been under the supervision of Fire Lord Octavio. Frustratingly, the prince had bested him, and in truth, Hector was still unsure of how either of them might have improved during the course of the war. But he could not let such an affront to his pride go unanswered.

"I have found that many of the supposedly elite swordsmen in our nation are very overrated," Hector said with a passable attempt at remaining calm. His voice shook slightly, though, and it was Diego's turn to feel the warmth of a small triumph. "Tell me, Prince Diego, is it comfortable to always rest on one's laurels?"

"It's a more comfortable bed than you would know, Count Hector," Diego said tantalizingly. "There's nothing so satisfying than being rewarded for one's hard work." Whether Diego realized it or not, his hand was resting on the pommel of his rapier.

"Hard work?" Hector sneered. "Half your opponents probably throw their weapons down and concede rather than curry disfavor with your father."

"Then put your blade where your mouth is, o count," Diego said simply. Hector and Diego's eyes bored into each other.

"Why, Prince Diego," Hector said, "if I didn't know better, I would say you were challenging me to a duel."

"I am," Diego said. "One hour from now. No court rules. We duel to first blood." Hector nodded.

"Agreed." The two held each others' gaze for one more moment before Hector turned to return to his own ship. Inigo sidled up alongside his nephew.

"Was that very wise of you, Prince Diego?" he asked carefully. "Count Hector is a very skilled swordsman, and surely your time could be better spent in pursuit of the Scion." Diego shook his head.

"Hector means to take from me what is rightfully mine," he said defiantly. "Defeating him now will put him in his place and remove another obstacle that stands between me and my honor." Inigo shook his head a little sadly.

"Be careful," he said. "The last time you fought with a master, you-"

"I haven't forgotten," Diego said shortly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, uncle…"

Diego turned and headed back in the direction of his quarters. Concern etched into his weathered face, Inigo watched him go. There was so much darkness in one so young…it was unhealthy. More than anything, he wished the boy could have lived a normal life. But he had to admire his nephew's ability to remain defiant in the face of any adversity that crossed their path. It was persistence, but in almost any other case it would have been optimism, and that was the spark that Inigo clung to, the spark that someday Diego could be the noble prince that Inigo had always known him to be. He motioned to a servant for some tea to be brought over. He needed to calm his nerves for what was to come.

* * *

The Ingwald forest was still as Javier walked through it. The occasional bird chirped, but in truth the only sound that he could hear was that of the wind softly blowing through the treetops. He looked about warily, nonetheless. There was something he found deeply unsettling about these Earth continent forests. Their trees were thick and tall, and the lowest branches were up more than four times the height of a man. It was unnerving to think of anything being so huge. There had been forests near his boyhood home in the Dominion, but the trees had been shorter, narrower, more in keeping with the compact nature of his homeland. There were times when he yearned for his home, but he was more or less happy with his lot here, across the sea.

He was working as a runner between various camps of Dominion troops. They acted as couriers of messages and supplies, and even worked as spies occasionally. Today, however, he had the very unexciting task of pulling a small cart of provisions from the Dominion camp on the edge of Ingsberg to the nearby village of Drexelbaum. It was a relatively safe trip, though there were always rumors of bandits and such in the woods. He wished that either of the commanders he worked for could have spared him an escort or two, at least so he could have had someone to talk to.

He heard a rustling in the treetops, one that sounded like a good deal more than just a gust of wind or a leaf squirrel. Carefully, he reached for the dagger in his sash. It wasn't much, but he felt better just having any kind of weapon. He looked around. "Hello?" he called out nervously. "If you're there, show yourself!" His eyes darted from tree to tree, looking for something up in the branches. He was so intent on looking up there that he was taken completely by surprise when he took his next step to find that there was no ground where he had thought there was. Letting go of the small cart, he fell into the pit, and immediately the ground closed around him, leaving only his neck and head exposed. From the shadows of the trees, several figures were emerging, but there were two in particular that he paid attention to.

The first one was a boy, perhaps sixteen, who was walking up the path towards him. He was clad in the garb of Earthen peasants, and he had long brown hair with a strikingly handsome face. Javier noticed that he was barefoot. That meant that this young boy was a geomancer, and it suddenly became clear how a sinkhole had randomly appeared in his path. But before he could think much more, he was distracted by the second figure, who had dropped from an astonishing height from the trees and landed adeptly, bending his knees to absorb the impact. He straightened up, and Javier could get a good look at him. Like the geomancer, he was very handsome, but while the first looked as though he could be a courtesan in Erdenheim, this second boy had a roguish flair to him, with short but wild black hair and intense brown eyes. He wore a pair of crisscrossing bandoliers across a leather jerkin and a mail shirt, and the bandoliers were filled with knives of varying sizes and shapes. The youth's belt held still more knives, and he even had smaller bandoliers with knives in them wrapped around his boots. He chewed thoughtfully on a large piece of grass as he surveyed his captive.

"Nice job, Otto," the knife-wielding one called out. "Smellerbee, Pipsqueak, the Duke, confiscate his belongings." Javier couldn't turn his head, but he heard three people starting to ransack his precious cargo.

"What should we do with this one, Richter?" the geomancer, Otto, asked. The leader, Richter, thought for a moment.

"Pop him out of the ground, Otto." He drew one of his many knives from his belt with practiced ease, and twirled it expertly between his fingers. Otto stomped the ground, and like the cork of a champagne bottle, Javier shot out of the ground suddenly, falling sprawled onto the ground. Before he could regain his footing, Otto stomped the ground again, and a hard column of earth rose up underneath his chest, bumping him roughly to his feet. Casually, Richter placed the tip of his knife beneath Javier's throat.

"You make me sick," he said, his voice full of contempt. "Do you know that? Your entire nation makes me heave at the very thought of you." Javier put his hands up in fear.

"Please," he said, "I'm just a courier, I'm not a soldier-"

"Do you know," Richter said, cutting across him, "that your army threw Otto's older brother and his father in prison, just because they were geomancers? Do you know that your nation imprisons people just for being who they are? And do you realize how much of a worm that makes you, that you know these things and that you can still live with yourself?" He prodded a little with the point of his knife, and a tiny red bead of blood appeared on Javier's neck. "Do you know," he said, his voice growing a little more constricted, "that my entire village and everyone in it was burned to ashes by your army? That I am the only person left out of what used to be my village?" he asked, and Javier was truly fearful. This boy looked as though he would accept nothing less than Javier's blood liberally spread across the forest floor. He knew of all of these things; as a member of the army, it was easy to detach himself from all of the goings-on by rationalizing them as necessities of war. But now, he saw the five youths before him, and realized they were all victims of the war. He felt his belt forcibly being taken from him. Otto sorted through Javier's coin purse before pocketing it.

"I'm sorry," Javier said quickly. He didn't know what else to say. And to his immense surprise, the expression on Richter's face softened. His eyes widened, and the grass in his mouth hung limply as his mouth slackened.

"Really?" he asked softly, and it looked as though he were almost holding back tears.

"Yes," Javier said, relief flooding to every part of his body. Slowly, carefully, Richter withdrew the knife from Javier's neck, and the courier breathed much easier. Richter seemed visibly moved.

"Go now," the youth said. "Tell your cohorts that this forest is not theirs to travel through. Go now." Javier needed no second bidding. He took off running for the edge of the forest, just grateful that he was still alive.

Otto handed Richter the knife from the courier's belt. Richter inspected it. It was a nice one, with a keen edge. He felt the haft. And it was well balanced, too. He grasped its point in his fingers. Then, with the same motion as a viper striking, he threw the knife. It spun through the air, cutting at it like the wings of an eagle before embedding itself in Javier's back. The Dominion messenger fell to the ground instantly. He shuddered for a moment, and then was dead.

"Good throw, Richter," Otto said. Richter walked over to the body.

"Thank you, Otto," he said, kneeling down and pulling the blade free. It was nice enough to be added to his collection, he decided. He wiped its bloody blade on some nearby grass before re-sheathing it and sliding it into place on the side of his belt. "Let's get this loot back to our base." Pipsqueak, the Duke, and Smellerbee nodded and started dragging their plunder off into the trees. Otto, however, stayed behind.

"You could have asked him about the prison," he said pointedly. Richter surveyed his second-in-command. He was the only geomancer of the entire group, and he was a good and loyal comrade. He felt some pangs of regret. He had made a promise to Otto.

"I apologize, Otto," he said. "I get carried away when we confront the enemy. I'll be more thoughtful the next time." Otto nodded in understanding. He stomped the ground again, and the slab of earth with Javier's body on it turned itself over, leaving absolutely no trace that Javier had been there at all. With a leap, the dashing young Richter threw himself into the nearest tree, and started running along the familiar route of crisscrossing boughs to their arboreal hideout. Otto stayed behind a second longer, using his geomancy to clear away any footprints. Then, he too left, and it was as though not a single thing had happened.


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The sun was starting to sink in the sky, and the normal blue was starting to bleed a pinkish red close to the horizon. It glinted off the blackened metal deck of the _Iron Fist_, it glinted off the blades of Diego and Hector's respective weapons, and it glinted off the tiny beads of sweat that were beginning to appear on their brows. A ring of men from both sides surrounded the two combatants, forming a loose ring. Inigo stood off to the side, stroking his beard with just a hint of worry as he watched the two combatants warm up.

Physically, the advantage lay with Hector. He was a head or so taller than Prince Diego, and due to his greater size he was a bit stronger. His weapon was fairly broad-bladed for a sword of its kind, and Inigo saw that the edges were sharp. A tassel dangled from its sterling silver hilt, and the artificer's take on a basket hilt handle had been successful. Diego, on the other hand, possessed the advantage of speed and technique. His prowess with a blade was legendary, almost in the same way his sister was said to be one of the greatest pyromancers of the age. Even court enemies of the prince could not deny his skill; Hector was perhaps the most bitter enemy Diego had on the face of the planet and he had come to admit it. Diego made some trial passes with his own rapier, whose blade did not have edges; Diego was a purist and believed in injuring with the point and the point alone.

The spectators of the event were at something of a loss. If they didn't cheer for their superior, it invited the ire of their commanding officer, which would make their lives difficult. But if they cheered for either noble to have his blood spilt, then it would also lead to some difficulties. As a result, every man there watched with bated breath, anxiously whispering amongst themselves. Only Inigo, the one man who perhaps had higher standing than either of them, felt free of the pressures to be political. As Diego prepared to step into the ring, he gave his nephew a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He wished that he could have done more, said more, but he did not think his nephew would completely appreciate it.

The two combatants squared off, blades held to their sides. As one, they saluted each other. However, there was no real feeling behind it; it was merely a formality as they settled into their fighting stances. Hector had a look in his eyes that seemed to lust for blood, and his stance was forward, ready to spring at a moment's notice. Diego, on the other hand, seemed a good deal more relaxed than his foe. The casual stare in his eyes made him look almost bored. Looking to Hector, and then to Diego, Inigo nodded, and clapped his hands loudly. Sparks flew from his hands, and the surprisingly loud noise resounded across the entire deck.

"Begin."

As expected, Hector lunged for Diego immediately, and with a flick of his wrist Diego drove his foe's blade downward before coming in with a riposte aimed at the count's chest. Hector twisted himself to let the blade pass by him narrowly, and then quickly ducked and sidestepped to avoid the inevitable follow-up slash. Hector brought his blade up from below, edge up and with an eye to slice across Diego's gut, but with an almost frustrating speed, Diego parried and threw himself into a full-out lunge. Hector immediately disengaged and knocked Diego's lunge to the side, and taking advantage of his foe's openness, made for a thrust at the side of his chest. Diego's blade was too far to parry, but the prince batted his foe's thrust aside with his forearm. Hector was about to object, but then remembered that they were not fighting with court rules. He allowed himself a small grin when he remembered that. That meant that anything was legal.

Diego winced slightly as he parried a full-on thrust with his arm. That had hurt a little more than he had expected it would. He was a little frustrated that this wasn't going as easily as he'd thought it would. Hector, it had seemed, really had been training constantly. Certainly, his swordsmanship was now within a shade of Diego's own talent, when in their previous duels he had easily been the count's master. Their swords rang out loudly as Diego launched his own offensive making three successive feints to the count's right. As could be predicted, Hector assumed these three feints were setting up a strike to the left, and so pre-emptively moved to parry to the left. Diego smirked, and made yet another strike to his right, this one a real one. He felt exultation as he saw the tip of his blade bite into Hector's sleeve and sink deeply, but was disappointed to see it emerge from the other side without any blood on its tip. He had only succeeded in skewering his opponent's sleeve. With an almost contemptuous flick of his wrist, he tore the sword through the side, leaving a gaping hole in what was doubtlessly one of Hector's favorite tunics.

With a grimace of intense dislike, Hector rounded on Diego again, and their swords clashed as Diego stopped a slash that was mere inches away from his neck. He forced the blade away and down before going in for another thrust. Suddenly, Hector threw out his hand and spat from it a blast of fire, and Diego had no choice but to abort his attack and leap aside to safety. The fire flew through the air, and then dissipated. Diego stood up. "Pyromancy has no place in a duel of blades, Hector," he said reproachfully. Hector merely slashed at the air, sending out an arcing flame. Diego raised his own blade to parry it, and the fire rechanneled itself around him, like a river flowing around a rock in midstream.

"It was you who specified that we not use court rules, Prince Diego," Hector said mockingly. "Or can you not abide by the terms that you yourself set up?" Diego brandished his rapier menacingly.

"Very well." He twirled his sword about him, and a spiral of flame encircled the young prince. Inigo's eyes widened in surprise. He had not known that his nephew was capable of doing that. He had always been a fairly average student of the art of pyromancy, even though he wished to be so greatly skilled at it. Inigo wondered if perhaps he had been taking the wrong approach with his nephew all these years. Maybe if he taught their pyromancy lessons and based them around swordplay instead of open-handed casting, it would all sink in better. He filed that thought away as an idea for later, turning his attention back to the duel. Diego thrust at the air, and the spiral of fire copied his motion, thrusting itself menacingly at Hector. Hector raised his sabre to parry, and was pushed back several feet across the deck floor. But even as the fire subsided, his stance did not break. Diego took the opportunity to come in closer and thrust at Hector's ankle, but the count sidestepped and responded with a fiery slash that just missed Diego's shoulder.

The two were fairly well-balanced, Inigo decided. Hector was eight years Diego's elder, and in that time had had plenty of time to improve his skills in the art of pyromancy. He had a head start that Diego could not match. But despite the count's attempts to better himself, Diego still proved to be a superior swordsman, whether it was through his own hard and bitter work, or else just his natural talent shining through. If they had been playing with court rules, Diego would have probably won it by now, but the introduction of pyromancy as a combat element threw everything into doubt.

The tension between them was almost unbearable as they broke apart from another furious round of back-and-forth. The spectators dared not speak, nor breathe, nor blink. Hector surveyed his opponent's face. He saw a grim determination in Diego's eyes. The scarred flesh on his face only served to make him look all the more fearsome. Diego saw the same look in Hector's eyes, but he saw something else: there was a hunger there, bubbling just below the surface, and it permeated every line on the count's face. His predatory smile was gone, replaced by something entirely different, more savage in every way.

At once, the two sprung. Hector came in for a slash, aimed at Diego's thigh. The blow would bring the prince to his knees, and then Hector could scar him in whatever way he wished…but when he tried to move his sword, he found it would not budge. Then, he saw what had happened. Diego had thrusted, but not at him. Rather, he had skewered Hector's ornate basket hilt with his narrow blade, and had entangled the two. With a strong yank, Diego tore Hector's sword from his hand. It slid down his blade, and he shook it off, sending the weapon skittering across the deck and landing at Inigo's feet. Hector, not one to give up easily, made to cast a bolt of flame at Diego, but Diego breathed in, and then exhaled a sheet of flame that hit the count squarely in the chest, knocking him on his back. Hector tried to scramble to his feet, wincing, but he was forced back down by Diego's booted heel on his chest. He felt the tip of Diego's rapier, slightly warm from their duel, touch gently against his cheek.

"It takes a great man to show his foe mercy," Diego said. He seemed to relax for a moment, and then suddenly dragged the tip of his rapier across Hector's right cheek, leaving a thin red line that began to bleed. Diego smirked. "I guess I'm not so great after all." Hector felt the pressure leave his chest, and he saw Diego was all ready walking away, cleaning his blade with a small white rag. "Stay out of my way while I search for the Scion," Diego said commandingly, "and conduct your campaign against the Earth Kingdoms. I consider the matter between us settled." And with that, the crowd parted for him and he was gone, his uncle lumbering by his side.

Diego knew that the scar that would result from his blow would be minor, but noticeable. Some men might have played their scars up to demonstrate their toughness, but he knew that Count Hector's vanity would not let him. As far as Hector thought, he would believe himself to be every bit as disfigured as Prince Diego actually was. And after all, Diego thought as he headed for the bridge of his ship, that had been the entire point.

Several of Hector's men moved to help him up, but he angrily threw them off and surged to his feet, with half a mind to come running across that bridge and cutting that smirk off of his hated rival's face. He felt blood from his cut starting to drip down his chin, and he seethed. That whelp…that spoiled whelp would not get the better of him. Slowly, carefully, he reined in his explosive anger, bit by bit, until it was back down to that warmly familiar slow burn just below his consciousness. He began to clean off his face wound.

"We continue our search for the Scion," he declared defiantly. "And we burn the Earth Kingdoms to the ground." He would not say anything more. He cast one last hate-filled glance at the _Burning Blade_ as it made all haste for the north, and then turned and swept into the innermost bowels of the _Iron Fist_. He had much to do. There was an awe-filled silence in his wake, as though the entire ship were afraid to do anything for fear of inviting the count's legendary rage. Then, as one, the crew seemed to snap to its senses and immediately set about redirecting their course, relaying signals to the rest of his fleet, and sending out messenger hawks to alert Count Hector's vast network of embedded underlings in the Earthen countryside that they had a target.

* * *

"I don't like the way it looks, Richter." Richter chewed on his ever-present stalk of grass and crouched low.

"Neither do I, Otto," he said solemnly. The thing in question was a footprint, a huge one with three short and splayed toes. It was easily as big as a badger's entire body, and it had made a deep imprint in the ground. That meant that whatever this thing was, it was heavy. Richter had been hiding out in the Ingwald forest for over a year now, and he was confident enough to believe that he more or less knew everything in and around it. But even he had never seen anything like this. After a moment, he stood up.

"What do you think? You're the geomancer."

"Whatever it is, it's big and heavy," Otto said, kneeling down and feeling the depressions in the earth. "Wide, too. Look at the rest of the track." Richter cast a glance down the trail, and saw that it stretched off fairly far into the forest. But what interested him was not how wide the tracks were, but how many. The creature, whatever it was, seemed to be taking far too many steps, as all the tracks were very close together. That meant that either this thing was running and happened to have very short legs, or it was a beast they'd never seen before, one that had more than two or four legs. Richter voiced his suspicions to Otto.

"That would make sense," Otto said with a nod. "In fact, I—" he stopped in mid-sentence. He had seen something billowing softly, caught in some of the nearby tree bark. He walked over to it, and carefully yanked it free. He felt it, and it was incredibly soft and white. He passed it to Richter. "Fur. So we've got a big, wide, heavy animal with white fur…and possibly more than legs."

"It's got to be a new weapon being brought in by the Dominion," Richter said. "Some kind of creature they can use to terrorize all of the local villagers."

"You think?" Otto asked.

"I do," Richter said. "The army of Osterlitz has long abandoned this place, and the Dominion remains the only power able to bring in exotic animals." The two stood up and started walking along the trail.

"It is headed in the direction of the Dominion camp towards the edge of Ingwald," Otto offered. Richter nodded. All of the pieces really fell into place. They continued walking in silence, hoping for a sight of the creature leaving these tracks. Richter's hands were staying very close to his favorite knives of his large collection, while he noticed from Otto's posture that his lieutenant was prepared for geomancy at a moments' notice. But as they continued along the trail, they noticed something odd about the tracks. They were becoming more obscured, filled with dust. It was almost as if a sudden breeze had kicked up and swept across the trail. And yet, strangely, the entire afternoon the air had been still as a painting, and even now the usual rustling of treetops was noticeably absent as background to the chorus of birds above. Richter and Otto exchanged sidelong glances. They were both thinking along the same lines.

"Send out a signal," Richter said tensely. "If anyone sees a large beast of any kind that doesn't look like it belongs in the forest…kill it and all that accompany it on sight. Then rejoin me on the trail. I think we'll need your talents soon enough." Otto nodded, and then stomped the ground. A large pillar of earth rose beneath him, carrying him to the nearest tree branch. The second he leapt from the pillar, it fell back into the earth, perfectly slotted where it had been before. In moments, he was off. Richter watched him go. Otto had proved to be good and loyal. He hoped that the day his father and brother were freed from their imprisonment would never come; Richter did not think he could find a better lieutenant anywhere.

He shook his head and banished other thoughts from his mind; he had one task set out for himself now. He drew a pair of mismatched but formidable knives and twirled them with a practiced, showy motion. Then, crouched low, he ducked into the shadows of the trees and began stalking his new and elusive prey.


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"Just a little further. I know it." Celia couldn't help but roll her eyes. After their close call off the coast of Katarin Island, Jack had insisted that they fly inland. They had hidden for a couple of nights in an abandoned farmhouse, and then once they had rested for long enough they had made for the forest. Jack thought that they should use it for cover while they were traveling. It was slower, he rationalized, but at least it would keep them out of sight for a while, and therefore out of trouble. And to an extent, he had been right. Certainly, in the day or so that they had been traveling through the vast woods, they hadn't drawn the attention of any Dominion forces.

Of course, when one was as hopelessly lost as they were, it was difficult to draw the attention of anything.

"Jack, we could take off right now and leave this forest and any pursuers behind in no time. There's no way they could catch us, and Appa can outfly any messages they might send," Celia pointed out. Jack shook his head stubbornly.

"Why draw attention to ourselves?" he asked. "Why risk it when we can avoid it by living with a small inconvenience for a little while?" He turned to Brishen. "Your people were wanderers," he said. "Surely you don't mind walking for a while?" Brishen shook his head.

"Not at all," he said. "Anything to let Appa rest for a while." He patted the sky bison's giant flank lovingly. Easy for him to say, Celia thought. He was an aeromancer, of course he'd be light on his feet. The fact that he had a staff didn't really help his case in her eyes, either. She wasn't used to walking so much. Their home island had been small; almost everything they needed had been within an arm's reach. The things that had been further away were always reachable by boat. But here, Celia found herself in the very unfamiliar environment of a place where the most readily available source of water was what was sloshing about in the skin pouch on her belt.

Jack, for some reason, had seemed to adjust to things rather well. In the earliest part of their journey, he had been the most reluctant, and trusting Brishen hadn't come readily until the young Scion had proved himself in Jack's eyes during the battle of Katarin Island. The self-proclaimed warrior had never gone on a long trek in his life, and yet she watched as he looked at random leaves and bits of dirt as though he were some great woodsman who knew how to interpret the signs that nature left him. It was almost like seeing a child at play, Celia thought, to herself, on a newer, larger beach than the one that they were used to.

Brishen, on the other hand, seemed the most at ease as she had seen him since she had met him. At their meals, he was talkative and cheerful, but in one of these rare quiet moments, she realized that he was a lot more laid-back and introspective than he usually let on. He ambled across the forest floor slowly, as though his eyes were drinking in his surroundings. Every so often, he would reach out and touch the trunk of one of the enormous trees, and it was like seeing a blind man run his fingers across it, as though Brishen wanted his fingertips to saturate themselves in this sensation of pure, uncorrupted, unadulterated _nature._ With a low screech, something dove out of the forest canopy. Celia didn't have to look up to know that it was Momo, doubtlessly with some new fruit to gnaw on. In many ways, he was the most curious member of their little group of wanderers. Perhaps it was because of his origins in the Shrine of Zephyr, but he had formed a strong bond with Brishen almost instantly, as though the two shared some deeper connection than just pet and master. Brishen craned his head up to see what Momo was doing, and then stopped for a moment as the winged lemur neared. With his usual grace, Momo landed on Brishen's shoulder, happily gnawing on a half-formed apple that looked as though it had been picked from its place far too early. Momo didn't seem to care.

Everything seemed so idyllic from down here, even if Celia's feet were as sore as they'd ever been. _And isn't that a sad thing_, Celia thought to herself, _when I can't trust a moment of peace anymore, because now I think it's too good to be true_. She thought back. They had been traveling for a few weeks now, and in that time they had been accosted by the crown prince of the Dominion of Fire twice, arrested (admittedly, as a joke) by the ruler of the city of Osterlitz, and ambushed by the Katarin Island warriors. They had had scarcely a moment to relax the entire journey. Celia had never wanted to get used to being in constant trouble, but just as Jack had adjusted quickly to the life of a transient, so too had she adjusted to the life of a fugitive in her own way. She had thoughts of home to keep her at ease, and the vague promise she had made herself that when this whole business was over, she'd go back to how things were without a problem.

"Brishen," Jack said, by way of reminder. Brishen nodded, and swept his staff across the trail. Wind blew dirt about, filling in Appa's footprints and obscuring their trail. It wasn't completely pristine, but they had decided that a completely unmarked road would look all the more suspicious. And besides, Jack had figured, forcing Brishen to thoroughly erase every single footprint, large and deep as they were, would take up valuable time they could be spending running from the Dominion. But while Jack may have hit on one good idea with walking through the forest, only half-erasing their trail was a plan that lacked the same virtues of practicality, and to a certain extent, wisdom. For that very reason, Jack's ill-conceived plan was about to catch up with them.

The arrow struck the ground in front of them and stuck there, quivering. Celia was about to tell off Jack for firing his arrows when she realized that there was no way Jack could have fired an arrow from where he was standing and gotten it to stick in the ground facing them. Instinctively, as a warrior's hand might drop to his sword, hers dropped to her belt flask, and she uncapped it with a flick of her thumb. A second arrow came careening for them, and with a whipping motion of her arm the water inside her large flask came snaking out and entrapped the missile in a floating bubble of water. She let the arrow fall harmlessly to the ground.

"Run!" Brishen yelled. Immediately, Appa broke out into a lumbering trot, while Momo immediately took to the air rather than try and balance on the Scion's shoulder while he was running. Celia started running, and again she noticed that despite the fear in her mind and heart, she was oddly used to this situation now. Running for her life had become normal in her travels with Brishen. She risked a look up to see figures slowly making their way across the upper branches. One of their number was firing off arrows, while the others bounded ahead. Celia could all ready tell that they were going to head them off, but before she could yell out a warning to Jack or Brishen, four figures dropped from the canopy above and landed on the path in front of them, barring their path.

At the back of the group was a boy, and it was impossible for Celia to tell his age. From his face, he looked about fifteen, but from his build he could have been a full-grown man. Despite his great size, he moved with a surprising nimbleness. On his broad shoulders he carried a much smaller boy, this one no older than ten. Yet, there was a strange crazy determination in the child's eyes, an emotion that did not belong, and yet was. A young girl with very short-cropped hair, almost boyish, brandished a pair of shortswords at them. She had a distinct rodent-like air to her, her eyes constantly flickering this way and that. The fourth was…well, the truth was he was the handsomest boy Celia had ever seen. He had long, flowing brown hair that went past his shoulders, and despite his peasants' garb he had very noble and patrician features. That face, however, was contorted in a glare as he took a strange stance, one that Celia supposed was the ready stance of geomancy. A glint up in the trees revealed to Celia a fifth person, a gaunt boy, clad in dark green and brown livery, with a longbow pointed menacingly at them.

"Take them," the handsome geomancer said. He punched the air, and a wave of earth rose up beneath his blow, rolling along the ground and knocking Brishen and Jack down. Appa, with his six legs, easily kept his balance, while Celia stayed up by clinging to the trunk of a nearby tree. The girl, the giant, and his young companion leapt into the fray, slowly moving to surround them. Jack parried the girl's twin blades with his dirk, but even the warrior was having trouble bringing himself to fight a young girl with all his might. Brishen, his usual peaceful self, was doing a fine job of keeping the large boy at bay, spinning him around with an array of wind blasts. He did not, however, seem to be able to knock his foe down. The geomancer knelt quickly and punched at the ground, and a rock launched itself straight at Celia.

Celia reacted quickly, and lashed out with her water. The rock, however, was a much heavier and harder target than she was used to, and she had to strain far harder to alter its course than she ever did with a person. It was apparent that she was not as good a hydromancer as this boy was a geomancer, and that didn't bode well. The geomancer, however, seemed to have stopped attacking for a moment, surprise on his face. She was about to make her attack on him to take advantage of that moment of weakness, when she heard Brishen yell, "Celia! Look out!" She turned and saw the arrow flashing straight for her, and too late, she had all ready committed her water to its attack on the geomancer. But then, the water snaked itself around and lashed at the arrow with such force that it cut the thing in two. Celia was confused. That hadn't been her. She looked over and saw that Brishen had an arm outstretched, a look of surprise and awe on his face. _Wait_, Celia thought. _Did he just--?_

Suddenly, the geomancer held up his hands. "Stop!" he called out, and immediately the fighting ceased.

"What are you doing, Otto?" the girl asked. "Richter said--"

"Richter said that we were looking for a weapon of the Dominion," Otto cut across her. "These three are not of the Dominion, and neither is their beast. This girl," he said, pointing to Celia, "is a hydromancer, the last thing the Dominion would have guarding some great weapon." The other three assailants started to relax. Otto straightened up and looked at the waylaid trio. "Who are you?" he asked, and his tone was not demanding. "What are you doing in our forest?"

Celia breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward. "My name is Celia," she said, "and that there is my brother, Jack, and our friend, Brishen." She indicated each of them in turn as she spoke. "We're refugees from the Dominion of Fire. My brother and I are of the Water Tribe, and Brishen—" she faltered. She wasn't sure if it was her place to be bandying about his name. Fortunately, Brishen finished the sentence for her.

"I'm the Scion," he declared. The would-be highwaymen exchanged looks, as though not quite sure they could believe it.

"He's an aeromancer," said the large boy in a surprisingly quiet voice. "He was using it when we was fighting, he was." Celia breathed her first sigh of relief since the entire encounter had happened. Suddenly, their attackers didn't seem like fearsome opponents; they were kids, she realized, almost like a youth gang. Despite their obviously hardened nature, even the mention of the Scion was enough to cow them.

"What are you doing?" The voice behind them made Celia, Jack, and Brishen turn, while the four attackers and even the archer in the tree immediately came to attention, of sorts. Striding up the path towards them, a knife in each hand, was another boy, who looked to be as old as the geomancer. Despite the severe look on his face, Celia had to revise what she had thought earlier. _He _was the handsomest boy she had ever seen. His dark hair was short and unkempt, and he had traces of stubble on his chin, giving him a rogueish sort of charm. Every space he could fit on his body was festooned with knives, it seemed, and he had a stalk of grass clenched between his teeth. He stopped and pointed a knife at them. "Why aren't you taking them down like I ordered you to?"

"They're not Dominion, Richter."

"What?" the boy called Richter asked, surprised. Almost instantly, he recovered. "Don't be stupid! Of course they are! Look at them, they're obviously foreigners!" The geomancer started approaching Richter, shaking his head.

"They're foreign, all right," he said, walking past Appa and stopping almost as though he were interposing himself between the incensed Richter and the three weary travelers. "That boy and that girl," he said, gesturing to Celia and Jack, "are from the Water Tribe, and the third boy has the most airtight excuse of them all." Richter raised his eyebrow skeptically.

"What, is he the Scion or something?"

* * *

That night, the Freedom Fighters, as Celia learned they were called, held a celebratory feast in the treetops. Once all the misunderstandings had been sorted out, the group had welcomed them to their arboreal hideout. To Celia, it was truly remarkable, what they had been able to do. There was an elaborate series of bridges, platforms, and huts that all seemed to be just below the sky's limit, and the leader of the group, Richter, proudly claimed that he and his fighters had constructed the entire thing themselves. She looked as Jack and the giant boy, who she now knew was called Pipsqueak, went head-to-head in a berry-eating contest, while Pipsqueak's young companion, the Duke, hurriedly brought forth plate after plate. The handsome geomancer, Otto, was talking with the sword-wielding girl, Smellerbee, about something or other. Countless other Freedom Fighters milled about, happily eating and playing in the treetops. Celia stood off to the side, leaning against a tree and just taking all of it in. She heard footsteps behind her, as well as the telltale sound of a staff scraping against wood. It was Brishen.

"Hello, Brishen," Celia said. "I was wondering where you were."

"Feeding Appa for the night," the aeromancer said, jerking his thumb down towards the ground. The sky bison had no way of fitting on any of the Freedom Fighters' platforms, and so had to make do with the forest floor for the night. "I left Momo down there to keep him company." He paused, as though looking for something to say. "Great party, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Celia said. She looked at Brishen, and some of the weariness in his face seemed to have been washed off by the soft flickering firelight. And yet, here before her stood the legendary mancer to end all mancers, the best there was. It was strange, how the reality of his identity had never hit her until that afternoon, when she had seen him use hydromancy. It was a strange, almost alien idea, to divide one's loyalty between elements. Water had been her mainstay since birth, and nothing would make her stray from it.

"Listen, Celia, about this afternoon," Brishen began a little awkwardly. It was as though he was reading her thoughts. "I don't know what happened. It felt like instinct, it really did. I'm sorry." Celia turned to him.

"What're you apologizing for?" she asked him, a little confused.

"I reached out and took your water from you," Brishen said. "For as dedicated a hydromancer as you, that must be like borrowing your soul." Once again, Celia was surprised by Brishen. He showed a surprising amount of insight into how she felt about her hydromancy. It occurred to her that it was that kind of insight that would make him such a good Scion. She shook her head.

"I should be thanking you," Celia said. "You saved my life back there. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Maybe I can teach you some things about hydromancy before we both get to the north pole," she offered. Brishen's face brightened a little bit, hard as it was to see in the darkness.

"I'd like that," Brishen said sincerely. The two watched the fire crackling while the celebrating Freedom Fighters and Jack continued to carry out the festivities.

"You know, Brishen," a suave voice said, cutting into their shared reverie, "Otto over there is quite the geomancer." Both of them turned around to see Richter walking towards them casually, his hands thrust into his pockets. "Why don't you go and talk to him for a while? I'm sure that as the Scion, you'll have a lot of questions about geomancy." He had all ready sidled over next to Celia. Brishen looked for a moment as though he were going to argue, or at least decline, but for some reason he just shook his head, and Celia thought she saw a flicker of annoyance pass over his face. He left to go and approach Otto, and now it was just Celia and Richter together.

"So," he asked, "what do you think of our hideout?" There was something so confident and strong in that voice of his, and everything about the way he carried himself cried out charisma. Celia was, to say the least, impressed.

"It's like nothing else I've ever seen," Celia said earnestly. Richter grinned a Cheshire sort of grin, and the grass stalk in his teeth stood up straighter.

"What do you say we go for a walk?"


	14. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

The moon was framed elegantly by the topmost boughs of the Ingwald forest. Celia saw it, and everything else for miles around. All was a sea of leaves and branches in the sky. She was a little unsteady of her balance, but Richter casually strode past her with his hands in his pockets, walking along narrow branches with the same ease that she might walk down a village road. Moving automatically to keep abreast with him, Celia moved, albeit far more cautiously. "Do you like the view up here?" Richter asked.

"Oh, yes," Celia said, looking up at the moon again. Growing up in the Water Tribe, she had always been taught reverence for the moon, greatest of all hydromancers. Now, up here in the canopy, she felt closer to it than she had ever been. Richter nodded appreciatively and gnawed at the end of his grass. He looked out over the forest as a king might survey his domain.

"I come up here to think," he said. "I care about the Freedom Fighters. They're like my new family. But sometimes, I can use a break." Celia's ears hadn't missed what Richter's casual tone had tried to gloss over.

"New family?" Richter nodded.

"My entire village was destroyed in a Dominion raid," he said, and there was an odd emptiness to his tone. "My family, my friends…everyone I knew. But I survived, and I decided that fate had let me live. I didn't want to waste the precious gift I'd been given, so since then I've dedicated my entire life to making things difficult for the Dominion troops stationed here." His voice seemed to be picking up intensity now, like a rock rolling down a hill and slowly getting faster. "We steal supplies and give them to villagers, we sabotage communications…we do anything we can to make them pay for this land." Celia found herself spellbound.

"What about the other Freedom Fighters?" she asked. "Are they orphans, like you?"

"Some," Richter said. "We think Longshot really suffered, I've known him for over a year and I've never heard him say a single word. We picked up Pipsqueak and the Duke while they were rummaging through Dominion trash for food, and the others just sort of came along. Like Otto. We met him through chance, but we lucked out with him." His eyes got a strange, far away look in them, as though he were remembering something distantly. "He's from a village a day's march from the forest, out in the countryside. There, the Dominion has banned all geomancy. His father and his older brother tried to resist, but they were taken away and imprisoned somewhere. And he…well, he ended up with us." Celia felt so moved by all of this. She could completely understand the plight shared by these lost souls, these Freedom Fighters.

"I lost my village to the Dominion, too. It was where they discovered Brishen, and it's become occupied." She felt like her story sounded somewhat lame next to the collective weight of tragedy being carried around by the Freedom Fighters, but for some reason the look in Richter's eyes and the tone of his voice made it seem like hers was the most important one of all.

"The thing is, though," Richter said, "is that Otto represents something. His father and his brother, and countless other geomancers, are still alive and still resisting, even in prison, I know it. They represent something, and so does your friend, Brishen. They represent hope for us." The words hung on the silent night air for a long while, and the two of them just stood there, bathed in moonlight as the breeze rustled across the top of the canopy, sending leaves rippling like water in a pond.

* * *

Jack woke the next morning to find himself sprawled on a wooden platform, the sun shining directly into his eyes. He squinted, rolled into some shade, and slowly his mind started working again. He remembered the celebration from the previous night. Or at least, he remembered that there had been a celebration last night. The harder he thought, he began to realize that he barely remembered anything at all. It was then that he realized that he had a throbbing headache. He massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger. Had he really had that much wine to drink? From the headache that he had, there was no way it could just be a hangover.

Around him, people were bustling about, working on whatever had been charged as their task of the day. Some people were lugging things from one platform to the next across the rickety rope bridges, while others were climbing down to the forest floor, doubtlessly to forage for food or scout for Dominion activity. He heard footsteps behind him, and craned his neck to look so quickly that it caused his aching head to spin. He groaned and rubbed his head again, and Otto laughed. "You had quite a night, Jack," he said with a bemused tone. "I was just coming to see if you'd woken yet."

"Yes, I'm awake," Jack said groggily. He groaned softly. "What happened last night?"

"You mean you don't remember?" Otto asked. "You and Pipsqueak were having a berry-eating contest—"

"I remember that," Jack said slowly.

"—And we ran out of berries, so the winner was inconclusive. So, the two of you got to drinking wine instead. We ran out of that, as well, and the two of you were frustrated. So, finally, you settled on a head-butting contest." Well, Jack thought, that explained why his head was hurting so much more than just a normal hangover.

"And who won?" Jack was almost afraid to know the answer.

"You," Otto said, to his great surprise. "The two of you butted heads for a solid three minutes before Pipsqueak went down. He owes you a ducat for it, so don't forget to collect that from him." Jack nodded dumbly, still disoriented and confused. Slowly, he began to clumsily lurch to his feet.

"Do you have anything to eat around here?"

* * *

Brishen was eating breakfast in one of the upper huts and carrying on a lively conversation with Smellerbee and the Duke when Jack staggered in, half-leaning on a chuckling Otto. "Look who's up," he said, and there was applause from around the room, and wearily, Jack waved to salute his adoring public. Then he sat himself down and Otto pushed a plate of meat and bread towards him. Hungrily, Jack began to eat his fill.

"Where did you get this?" he asked between mouthfuls. "It's not bad." Otto grinned.

"Usually, things like that get lost in the woods if they're on their way to the Dominion forces," he said.

"Well, if this is what you do, count me in on the next job," Jack said with a small laugh as he went back to wolfing down his food. But Otto seemed to be intrigued at the thought. His brow furrowed thoughtfully for a moment, and then he settled himself down and began to tuck into his own meal.

"I'll talk to Richter about it," he said mildly.

* * *

Celia awoke in a hut with the sunlight filtering through its windows. She looked around. It was a little larger than most of the other huts she had seen, and it seemed fairly well-kept. The bed she slept in was spacious, its simple mattress filled with straw. Not the most comfortable pallet, but it was better than her bedroll. Slowly, she sat up and saw that her traveling clothes had been strewn across a chair, as well as her waterskin. Yawning slightly, she rose and crossed to the chair to start getting dressed. As she did, she noticed that there were an awful lot of knives lying around this hut.

Then, she stopped cold.

Her blood froze, but her mind went into a blind, speeding panic. She was in Richter's hut. She had fallen asleep in Richter's bed. She was undressed. Things were not looking good. She and Richter had spent some time up in the treetops, and then they had returned to the party down below, where the two of them had shared a stolen bottle of firebrandy. From there, everything was very hazy. She threw on her clothes quickly and then rushed out of the hut. In doing so, she almost bumped headlong into Richter himself.

"Oh, good morning, Celia," Richter said mildly. Celia felt herself flush.

"Richter," she asked a little brusquely, "what—"

"You had a little too much to drink," Richter said reassuringly. "I tucked you in, and I spent the night at Otto's hut." It took a moment for his words to hit Celia full-on, but when they did she felt a warm wave of relief wash over her. Inwardly, she breathed a deep sigh. She hadn't done anything she would have regretted. And Richter had made sure of it. _How chivalrous of him_, she thought. "There's breakfast on the next level down," Richter continued. "Go and get yourself something to eat. I'm going to take a few of the Freedom Fighters out on a job, but we should be back by mid-afternoon. I'll see you then, all right?" Celia nodded, and Richter started walking off. He waved to her and cast her one last look from over his shoulder. "See you soon." And with that suave remark, he was off, with her wistfully watching his retreating back.

* * *

Jack's head still hurt when he was dragged off along with Otto, Richter, and Smellerbee to take part in the days' work. But he was man enough to deal with it, he told himself, and his warrior's instincts had him spoiling for a fight with the Dominion. The thought of resisting them right under their noses, making life miserable for them appealed to him deeply, much more than the life of a fugitive ever had. He and Richter were up in a tree along the side of the road, while Otto and Smellerbee had taken up flanking positions on the ground. Richter had promised that it would be a fairly simple smash and grab. They had been waiting up there for a few minutes in careful silence, waiting for the target that Richter was so sure was on his way. Bored of the silence, Jack risked opening his mouth to speak.

"So, what are we on the lookout for, exactly?"

"A very dangerous man, one who needs to be removed from the board permanently. He poses a grave threat to everyone in the area," Richter said solemnly. Jack nodded grimly, not sure of what else to say. He didn't have to say anything else, though; Richter held up a hand as though to pre-emptively silence him, and whispered, "I think he's coming now. Stay ready." Jack's keen archer eyes cast their gaze down the path, and just around the bend he saw a long shadow moving, and growing ever closer. His grip on the hilt of his dirk tightened, and he started to slide it from its scabbard. The figure rounded the corner, and Jack rested his gaze upon…

An old man. He was hunched over and leaning heavily on his knotted walking stick. He moved with a shuffling gait, and even from up in Jack's perch it looked as though each step was requiring a Herculean effort from the man. Nonetheless, he was clad in the deep reds and golds that marked him out as a citizen of the Dominion. Jack just stared. Could this old man truly be as dangerous as Richter was convinced he was?

The man was directly beneath them now. "Jump," Richter said softly. Jack blanched.

"No way!" he said, gesturing to indicate the long fall to the ground.

"Trust me," Richter said, and without another word he leapt from his bough to the ground. Jack bit his lip, and deciding that Richter had to know what he was doing, swallowed his caution and launched himself into the air. The ground came rushing to meet him, and he could feel it, this was his last moment…only for him to land on the ground and feel it soften at his touch, gently absorbing the impact of his landing. He realized with a start that Otto must have softened the ground for them, and gained a new appreciation for Richter's resourcefulness. Straightening up, he drew his dirk. The man turned around, surprised, and a spinning knife, expertly thrown by Richter, knocked his walking stick out from under him. The man immediately collapsed to the ground. Otto and Smellerbee emerged from the undergrowth, and the old man was surrounded. Slowly, he forced himself onto his knees and looked around wildly. Richter approached him.

"State your business, old man," he sneered, his voice the very icon of contempt. The man looked fearful. His voluminous white beard hid his chin, and it was shaking to his very tips. Richter's knife edge glinted menacingly.

"I'm just an old man," he said, his voice full of tremors of fear. "Just an old—"

"Liar!" Richter yelled out, and kicked the man in the ribs. He fell to the ground wheezing and clutching his midsection. Jack put a hand on Richter's shoulder.

"That's enough," Jack said firmly. "There's no need to do that." Richter tossed off his hand and made to kick the man again, but his foot stopped; a small column of earth had emerged from the dirt and blocked him. Otto held his hand out, and slowly approached. He crouched down, so as to be face-to-face with the old man. When he spoke, his tone was a good deal more gentle, though stern.

"Where would the Dominion house its war prisoners from this area?" he asked. The old man looked up. This captor seemed more level-headed and wanted information. Surely, he would be more reasonable.

"Prison?" he said, his voice rasping. "There's one out at sea, not too far from here. They call it—"

"He's got a weapon!" Richter yelled suddenly. His knife flashed through the air so quickly that it seemed as if the knife hilt had just grown out of the back of the old man's head. He slumped forward, dead, and immediately Richter sprung on the body, removing his knife and inspecting the corpse. Otto's brow kneaded itself in anger.

"What did you do, Richter?!" he yelled out angrily. "He was about to tell me where I could find my father!"

"He had a weapon," Richter said defensively, cleaning bits of bone and brain off the tip of his knife. "He was trying to lure you in closer so he could kill you. I couldn't let that happen." Jack stopped to think for a moment. That didn't sound quite right.

"I didn't see any weapon," Jack said.

"Oh?" asked Richter. "Then what do you call this?" He dramatically produced from the fold of the dead man's robes an ornate and wickedly curved dagger, one that looked very dangerous, indeed. "Do you see the weapon now, Jack?" Jack couldn't deny that there was a weapon, but the man seemed genuinely harmless, not even able to stand up on his own. And he had been about to provide them with some useful information, no less. Richter was all ready walking past the body and heading for the trees again. "There'll be more people coming this route during the day," he said. "We need to set up the next one. Otto, clean everything up." With a few gestures and a stomp of his foot, the entire scene of the murder vanished into the earth, leaving it as pristine as if not a single foot had fallen upon it. Smellerbee started heading back to her hiding place, but before Jack and Otto took up their positions, they exchanged a meaningful glance.

Something was up about this Richter.

* * *

Brishen lay in the warm sun, curled on Appa's side. He had appreciated the hospitality the Freedom Fighters gave him, but there was nothing to him quite like the soft hide of his lifelong companion. To the soft rhythm of the bison's breathing and heartbeat, Brishen found himself slowly drifting off into a quiet afternoon nap, one of the most relaxed he'd had in a while. For some reason, being surrounded by the Freedom Fighters and the forest made him feel safe, and instead of the waking, shallow sleeps that he had had every night since his rescue from the ice, he found his consciousness buried deeper than it ever had been in his memory.

In the grey mists of his dreamtime, the first thing that Brishen noticed was the shadow in the distance. It was undoubtedly the outline of a man, though his appearance was shrouded by the roiling clouds of grey that surrounded them both. But despite the silhouette being of a man that Brishen knew he had never seen before, Brishen felt that this man in his dream was a familiar presence, like an old friend. He could see the figure looming larger as it approached him, and despite any fear he had in his dream, he stood his ground.

"Brishen," came a voice. It had a strange lilting and flickering quality to it, and like the silhouette seemed strangely familiar. It was not calling to him, nor was it threatening him. It was simply…addressing him. Brishen gazed up at the shrouded figure, and then twirled his hands about to summon a great gust of wind. To his great surpris, though, he found that his aeromancy seemed to be gone from him, and even though it was his own dream he suddenly felt quite helpless. He looked up, and for a brief moment he could see the face of the man.

He had a hooked nose, from behind which brown eyes stared down kindly. His mouth was ringed in a grey-and-white goatee, while his long white hair stretched down to his shoulders. He looked weathered and old, and yet the fire in his eyes betrayed to Brishen a certain ancient wisdom just beneath the surface. Brishen did not know how he knew, but by instinct, the name of the man formed on his lips.

"León."


	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"I'm telling you, Celia, I don't have a good feeling about him!" Jack looked as though he wanted to pound his fist on the table for emphasis, but restrained himself for fear of making undue noise. The trees were good at hiding them from the Dominion, but they also did an excellent of hiding them from each other. He had no way of knowing who was listening in, uninvited.

"Jack, why are you whispering like that?" Celia asked. "We don't have anything to fear from the Freedom Fighters. And least of all, we don't have anything to fear from Richter. He's a dedicated enemy of the Dominion of Fire. Aren't we, too?" Jack waved his hand impatiently.

"There's dedicated, and then there's Richter," he said darkly. "He killed an old man in cold blood. He may have been Dominion, and Richter claims that he had a weapon, but I don't buy it. I vote that we get out of here as soon as possible." Celia shook her head.

"We haven't had a chance to rest once on this journey," she said. "Now we're finally getting a chance to take a breath, and you want us to pack up and start running again?"

"During the other legs of our journey, sis," Jack said with the air of explaining something simple to an even simpler person, "we were _running _from the Dominion. Here, they're chasing down the Dominion, and it's only a matter of time before they decide to just cut their losses and torch this whole forest to flush out the Freedom Fighters. Between that and their unstable leader, we're not safe here." He looked around warily, and to Celia's great surprise she could see that there was a real worry in his face, maybe even a hint of fear. For all his bravado, it did take a lot to get Jack spooked…maybe he was onto something. Celia turned to Brishen.

"What do you think, Brishen?" The Scion was thoughtful, and carefully considered his words before answering.

"He's got a lot of zeal in fighting the Dominion," he said. "I think it would be in our best interests to wait around for a while. So far, this place has provided good cover, and who knows? Maybe Otto can teach me something about geomancy," he offered. Jack felt his face flush as frustration set in. Grumbling low beneath his breath, he stormed out of the hut, off to be alone somewhere, no doubt. Celia glanced after him, his worry echoed in her face. Brishen reached over and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "Jack will calm down, I'm sure of it."

"I hope so," Celia said.

"Calm down about what?" someone outside asked loudly. Richter came striding in nonchalantly, and Celia and Brishen wondered if he had been out there the entire time.

"Oh, Jack is just having some trouble living up in the trees," Celia lied quickly, hoping it wasn't too obvious.

"He's much more used to the open sea, so this is a very drastic change for him," Brishen added, and Celia was only slightly annoyed to realize that he sounded more sure of himself about her brother than she. Nonetheless, she plastered the best innocent smile on her face that she could, and it seemed to be enough for Richter. The stalk of grass in his mouth—did he ever take that thing out?—swished from side to side as he spoke.

"Actually, Celia," he said, "I have a small job for you. You're a hydromancer, aren't you?" Celia nodded. "Good," he said. "I could use your help. There's a stream in this forest, and it flows directly into the reservoir behind that dam in the distance." He pointed at the big structure on the outskirts of the Ingwald, squinting slightly to see it in the distance. "The dry weather's kept the reservoir a little drier than usual, and if it gets too dry, the villagers won't have as much readily available water to drink." Celia could hear an urgency in the undertones of his voice, and knew he was sincere.

"What can I do to help?" she asked, full of resolve.

"The current in the stream is pretty slow. But with hydromancy, I was thinking that you might be able to speed up the current a bit, so we can fill it up faster." It was a good idea, Celia thought. There might have been some inherent risks, but it was worth it in her mind for the sake of the villagers. The only thing that daunted her was the scale of the hydromancy she would have to use to make it work.

"I don't know, Richter," she said, "I've never manipulated rushing water before. I'm not sure how I'll do." The Freedom Fighter locked eyes with her.

"You can do it," he said, not a trace of doubt in his face or his voice. "I know you can." She smiled, and felt something warm inside her as she saw his belief in her echoed in all of his actions.

"You can bring me, Celia," Brishen butted in loudly. He moved alongside the two of them, and if Celia didn't know better she would have said that Brishen was interposing himself between the two. "Two hydromancers are better than one, and you can teach me some of the basics of the art." Celia felt a strange flutter of annoyance at Brishen, but couldn't understand for the life of her why. She meant to say one thing or another, but in the end all she managed was another nod.

"Good," Richter said. "I'll leave you two to it. If we succeed…it'd be a great boost for the townspeoples' morale. And it'd mean a lot to me." He left without wishing them good luck, or even saying goodbye. In his eyes, and in Celia's, he didn't have to.

* * *

Brishen settled into the hydromancy stance awkwardly. From his earliest days, he'd been drilled constantly in aeromancy, an art that was steeped in constant motion and sweeping, circular movements. Hydromancy, as Celia had explained to him on their way over, was as full of motion as aeromancy was, but it was different. Brishen had been taught to be as changing and unpredictable as the wind itself, but from the motions he'd seen Celia make before, he surmised that he would have to try and emulate the smooth and flowing motion of the water. Celia walked around him slowly, looking over his stance and adjusting it in certain places. At last, she was satisfied and stepped back.

"Perfect," she said. "Just as the key to aeromancy is movement, the key to hydromancy is flow. You can make all the motions you like, but until you can flow them smoothly together, as the water is itself, then all of your hydromancy will be choppy and ineffective. Of the four elements," she said, dropping into her own stance and starting to create a small whirlpool in the slow-moving stream, "water is the most adaptable and changing. It can softly splash against you one moment…and the next it can be a great, irresistible torrent." For emphasis, the whirlpool spun faster and faster, the water frothing white beneath her hands. She ceased, and immediately the water was completely still. Brishen noted that those words, though helpful, didn't sound like Celia's. Perhaps she had heard a master say them once before.

"Let's start out with the very basics," Celia suggested. She began to gently wave her arms alongside the current, and Brishen noticed how gradually her arms straightened out, flowing down from the shoulder to the elbow, to the wrist, and to her very fingertips, before smoothly returning to the original position. Below her, he saw the water pick up its speed slightly. "The current will be assisting you, but it'll be your chance to show me what you can do. Just gently push the water along, like that," she said as he started to mimic her actions. At first, there wasn't any noticeable difference, not even a bubble beneath Brishen's feet. He couldn't quite grasp it. Water wasn't like air; air was all around constantly, and readily within reach. He had to reach out for this water, and it was not nearly as easy to mould. He kept going through the motions, feeling his movements becoming smoother and more fluid the further he went on. And then…

With a splashing noise, a tendril of water leapt up like a fish, and just as quickly fell back into the frothing stream. "There, you have something!" Celia said, glowing. All her previous annoyance with Brishen was completely forgotten. For some reason, being able to say that she was succeeding in teaching her friend hydromancy was providing a deep satisfaction that she had never felt before. "Try it again," she suggested gently, reining in her excitement. Brishen nodded, and repeated the motion, this time with gusto. He was rewarded by a louder splashing noise, and the current visibly sped up for a moment as he went through the motions. "Do you think you have it now?" she asked. Brishen nodded again.

"I do," he said. "I think I'm ready to help you with the current."

"Then let's get started," Celia said. She waved her hand, and immediately a small section of the stream froze over completely, forming an ice bridge that she casually slid across. Brishen watched in amazement as she waved her hand again, and the entire thing melted back into normal water.

"When can I learn to do that?" he asked. Celia couldn't help but smile at his eagerness.

"Later."

* * *

Jack couldn't move. In fact, Jack couldn't do much of anything. For the second time in roughly a week, he found himself tied to a chair, completely unarmed, and more or less helpless. He shouted and howled all manner of curses that filled the air of the dark hut he was imprisoned in, but it felt to him as though all his cries were eaten up by the darkness before they could reach the ears of anyone else. He felt a sense of vertigo, as though his surroundings were gently shifting constantly, and it was starting to make him feel sick. Outside, he heard somebody fussing with the door. Immediately, he renewed his yelling. "Help!" he called out. "I've been kidnapped, Richter's lost his mind!" The door opened, and there stood Richter himself.

"You know, Jack," he said coolly, "it's rude to yell when you're someone's houseguest. I don't have to gag you, do I?" Jack didn't say anything; instead, his face contorted itself into a mask of anger and he spat on the ground at Richter's feet savagely. "Hmm," Richter hummed mildly, looking at the glob of spit as though it were a particularly interesting bug. "I guess that means, 'yes.'"

"You can't hold me here forever," Jack said, his voice conveying the grimace of hatred on his face. "Brishen and Celia will notice I'm gone. They'll—"

"They think you're out on a job with me, Jack," Richter said. "And they'll be so happy to know that you've relaxed about me. You have to understand, I'm not really such a bad man."

"You're not a man, Richter," Jack spat. "You're a monster. You're a cold-hearted murderer, and that makes you as bad as any member of the Dominion." Instantly, Richter's cool evaporated. He kicked Jack in the chest angrily, causing all the air to sail out of poor Jack's lungs and knocking him back harshly to the floor. Richter was breathing hard, while Jack gasped to get his breathing rhythm back after getting the wind knocked out of him.

"I'm nothing like them," Richter said, his voice full of conviction and venom at once. "I'm a leader of my people, a fighter for my country. I'm a hero, Jack. You can't see that, which is why I've brought you here. Your sister being a hydromancer, I need her unique talents for what I've got cooking, and you were really starting to get in the way of that." Jack's muscles bulged as he strained futilely against his bonds.

"What are you going to do to my sister?" he shouted.

"Your sister and your friend, the Scion, are going to destroy the village of Drexelbaum for me," Richter said matter-of-factly. "And when that entire town is swept away in the worst flash flood in decades, the entire Dominion garrison will be swept away with them. Right now, your friends are sweeping the tributary's water into the reservoir outside of Drexelbaum faster than the dam can handle, especially after I've taken steps to make sure it breaks." Richter had a strangely cold demeanor about him as he explained his plan. This wasn't playing out as Jack had expected it, the way it would have been in any one of the Water Tribe playwright Lewis' works: the villain melodramatically revealing to the gallant but defeated hero his master plan. Here Richter was, revealing his master plan, but there was no drama. He was telling Jack this as an absolute. It was going to happen, and there was nothing Jack could do now to stop it.

"Why are you telling me this?" Jack asked.

"So you can understand, Jack. You're a smart man, smarter than any one of my Freedom Fighters, and easily smarter than your companions. You're the first one I've met whose intellect can really match mine. And I respect that. Were you a dumber man, you would have been dead by now, and I probably would have placed the blame of your death in the hands of the Dominion." Jack was more than scared now; Richter seemed to have this down to a science. "I'm hoping that by telling you this, you'll come around to seeing the way I do, seeing the need to get things done. We could stop our fight and look for Otto's father and brother at prison, for instance. But think of all the suffering that would go on back here without us to watch over them all."

"Did you ever stop," Jack asked through gritted teeth, "and think about what would happen if you let a massive flood run amok through their town? At least the Dominion left it standing!" Richter shook his head sadly.

"I feared you wouldn't understand," he said. "But I have hope that you might come around. Think of it, Jack. With the dam seemingly broken by itself, it will look as though the spirits themselves have struck down the Dominion. Word will spread, and hope with it. We'll be heroes. There'll be blood on no one's hands but my own, and it will be blood that no one will know about."

"I'm not going along with it," Jack said. "And if I ever get out of this chair and see you again, I'm going to kill you." Richter just chewed on the end of his grass stalk, and even Jack was cowed despite his rage. How could Richter act so casual in the face of so much? It was downright unsettling.

"Very well," Richter said. "I'll leave you here for now." He turned to go. "The hut you're in is suspended from a high branch by a series of ropes," he said as he walked out. "Hard for anyone to find you, and if you prove to be trouble, even in here, it'll be fairly easy for the ropes to break with you inside…" He let the threat hang in the air, and then he was abruptly gone, in that annoying way that Jack had begun to notice was a trademark of his. Jack cursed, but was at least grateful that Richter had been short-sighted enough to forget to gag him. Of course, in the face of being tied to a chair while flat on his back, it was a small comfort, but one he would have to use to the best of his abilities.

But it was going to take some kind of miracle to save him and Drexelbaum at this point, and the only miracle worker that he knew was busy helping his sister destroy the very thing that he was trying to protect…


	16. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Otto sat on the branch, letting his feet dangle into the open air, as if daring the ground to come up and swallow him. He wasn't afraid, though; no geomancer worth his salt feared anything that came out of the ground. His older brother, Karl, had told him that when he was teaching him the basics of geomancy. That had been while the kingdom's defenses still held, before the war had managed to touch their small, out-of-the-way village. Every geomancer in the area had been locked up and shipped away to some unknown prison. Every geomancer, that was, except for him. His father had refused to let him join the village's defenders on the front lines, and so his talent had remained a secret from the Dominion while his father and brother rotted away for no crime beyond merely being what they were.

Richter had been sympathetic, when the two had met. Richter had promised him safety, and ultimately answers to the questions that he had. Above all else, Richter had represented something he could do to help the war effort, no matter how infinitesimal. But despite his continued loyalty, Otto was starting to face some doubts concerning his would-be savior. In particular, Richter seemed much more eager to kill in recent months than he had when Otto had first joined the Freedom Fighters. Of course, Otto knew that if Richter had his way every single citizen of the Dominion would be put to knife's edge at once, but before Richter had shown restraint. Now, he killed wantonly, picking fights he didn't need to. It had taken all of Otto's best persuasion to convince him not to kill Brishen, Jack, and Celia out of hand, just for being interlopers. And yet, there was some strange charisma that the boy had about him, one that made everything he said make sense, made everything he did seem right. Otto had never met a more charming person in his entire life.

He heard a rustling off in the distance and looked. Sure enough, there was Richter, climbing up some sort of vine…no, a rope, it was definitely a rope. Otto looked on quizzically, and then, without quite knowing why, slowly and carefully ducked out of sight while never taking his eyes off of Richter. He watched as Richter looked around warily, and when the Freedom Fighter was satisfied that he couldn't see any potential eavesdroppers, he stalked off into the trees, doubtlessly heading up to the top of the canopy. Otto slowly rose from his hiding spot and began to make his way over to Richter's branch, careful not to make too much noise as he crossed over. As he approached, he saw in surprise that there was a small hut hanging from it by several ropes. That interested Otto, to be sure. As far as he knew, no other Freedom Fighter knew about this place, either, and it was in keeping with Richter's nature to keep secrets from his comrades. He stopped, convinced that he'd heard something. He strained his ears, and his suspicions were immediately proven correct: though muffled, he definitely heard a human voice coming from within the swaying hut.

Slowly, he began to ease himself down the rope and towards the door.

* * *

Richter reached for the device he'd stolen in a raid of a Dominion camp. The thing was a small metal tube, but it extended to almost three times its original size. But the most amazing part of it was that when one looked through it, they would see far-off objects at a much closer distance. A "telescope," they'd called it. He'd found it incredibly useful to scout out the surrounding area, and now he was watching his plan be put into action. He shifted the angle slightly, and to the side of the dam, he could see Celia and Brishen pumping their arms, forcing more and more water into that reservoir. Soon enough, the dam would buckle and break, and when that happened…he let himself indulge in a Cheshire grin.

It had been a shame about Jack. Richter had known immediately upon seeing the warrior that he was dealing with someone as smart as he was, finally. The Duke was a child, Pipsqueak was an oaf. Smellerbee was probably in love with him, from the way she hung onto his every word. Longshot's muteness and withdrawn nature made him difficult to talk to, and Otto was a natural born follower. No, Jack had been someone Richter could have seen as an equal, if only Jack hadn't lacked the grand vision that Richter possessed in spades. The young Scion had been easy enough to fool, and Celia…well, he liked Celia. She intrigued him more than any other girl he'd ever met. She intrigued him so much that he had resisted the temptation to bed her, even though he'd had a clear opportunity. She would have been nice to have around. But he didn't expect her to, not after her brother was found tragically crumpled at the foot of a tree, having fallen from a colossal height.

Yes, it was a shame about Jack. He had figured out most things, and what few things he hadn't figured out, Richter had told him so he could give himself a good enough reason to kill the Water Tribe warrior without any room for refutation by his pesky conscience. He'd do it as soon as he saw that his plan had worked; doubtlessly Brishen and Celia would rush to the aid of the doomed Drexelbaum, futile as it was. Richter could tell that they were the types to do that. All ready, he'd ordered his Freedom Fighters off on various jobs around the Ingwald; they didn't know about this, and they didn't need to. They would each discover it on their own, as a surprise, and that would cleanse them of any suspicion. Richter couldn't rely on any of them the way he could rely on himself to not break under scrutiny, so it was a secret he entrusted to himself alone.

But then, that was why Richter was in charge and the others weren't. Richter had refused to break, even as he'd watched the only home he'd ever known disappear in angry orange tongues of fire and noxious black smoke. He had cried once, as he had watched his home burn. Then, he had buried what bodies were left to bury, and he was done feeling pain and loss. He used it to make himself stronger, and he began to resist and steal from the Dominion. He had been a mere fourteen years old when he'd made his first kill, a lucky toss of a knife at a pursuer. Since then, he'd sworn by his throwing blades, and his collection had grown ever since. As he had begun to hide out in the Ingwald, others had joined him, drawn by his naturally magnetic personality. But they were not fit to lead, as he was. They had come to him because they were broken, and needed him to feel whole again. They saw the Freedom Fighters as a second family. Richter was not so foolish; for him, there was no second family.

Even from here, the telescope could see fine fractures starting to appear in the face of the great dam; it wouldn't hold for much longer. The leaks would spring, and then they would get bigger and bigger until the entire thing shattered and the wrath of the spirits themselves would visit judgment upon the Dominion…courtesy of he, Richter.

* * *

In the fifteen minutes or so since Richter had left, all of Jack's struggling had succeeded in rolling Jack and the chair he was tied to onto his right side. But now Jack found himself unable to move at all. He heaped curses on the Dominion, on Richter, on the other Freedom fighters, and on everything else that he could think of. His arms were becoming sore from struggling so much with the rope, but he had been bound well. It seemed to him as though there was no use. He let out one last curse, knowing in his mind that the only way he'd stand a chance of warning anybody now was if the door would just-

_THUNK._ The door fell onto the floor, kicked off its crude hinges by someone outside. Jack craned his neck up, and saw a pair of bare feet. He knew what that meant, but he wasn't sure how to act. During the previous day's raid, Jack was sure he had seen doubt in the geomancer's eyes. And yet, Richter considered Otto to be his closest lieutenant amongst all the Freedom Fighters. He decided to not say anything, and waited to see if he was being rescued…or dealt with.

"Jack?" The surprise in Otto's voice made Jack swell with relief.

"Otto!" he called out. "You have to untie me! Richter did this! He's planning on destroying the dam and destroying Drexelbaum!" Otto wasn't sure if he believed Jack's story, but he had seen Richter leaving this hut, and so at least he knew Jack was a prisoner. He knelt down and started to untie all of the knots that had been put into place, and saw from the complicated ropework that it had been Richter who had tied the knots. As he was untying, Jack was speaking frantically. "He's got Celia and Brishen up there right now, overfilling the reservoir after he weakened the dam! If we don't stop them, Drexelbaum will be destroyed, and all the innocents within will drown like rats!"

He was free. Quick as lightning, he stood up and started looking around the hut for his weapons. He didn't see them, and cursed. He wouldn't have any time to find them; he'd have to go in unarmed. He started to head for the door, then stopped when he remembered the precarious situation they were both in. "Otto, make a pillar of earth to take us to the ground," he said. It wasn't a command, but there was a definite urgency in Jack's voice. Otto was hesitant.

"I don't know, Jack," he said. "This is all a lot to take in…" Jack rolled his eyes irritably.

"Fine," he said, "Don't help me and watch as the rest of your people die in that village. But if you're not going to help me, at least let me down from here so I can go and do something!" Otto stepped out onto the front step with him, and looked down. It was the word of a stranger against the word of the one who had saved him from doing something stupid back in the day. And yet, Jack's story seemed to make so much sense, while Richter had seemed so off-kilter recently.

Otto bit his lip. This wasn't easy.

* * *

Brishen and Celia fell back onto their respective banks, breathing hard. They'd been working for hours now to speed the current, and the water had flowed eagerly at their call. Brishen had taken to hydromancy eagerly and quickly, and he felt that he'd impressed Celia with his aptitude. At least, he hoped he had. She had promised to teach him some more moves later on, ones that would allow him to do a few things more complex than just moving water about. _And if Celia can do all of these things_, Brishen thought, _imagine what a full master must be capable of_.

Slowly, he sat himself back up, satisfied. He could see Celia was all ready climbing to her feet. "What do you think?" he asked her. She looked downstream, and though the reservoir was a long way off, it looked a good deal fuller than it had before they'd started. If Celia hadn't been so sure that Richter knew what he was doing, she would have said it was too full.

"I think we've done some good work today, Brishen," she said, satisfied. Brishen slowly got to his feet, leaning on his staff for help. He turned to follow her gaze, but his brow furrowed as he looked more closely at the reservoir. Celia noticed the expression on his face, and her own face fell slightly. "What's wrong, Brishen?" she asked cautiously.

"That dam," Brishen said. "My eyesight isn't perfect, but something doesn't look right. I'm going to take a closer look, all right?" Celia nodded, and Brishen tapped the tip of his staff on the ground. The glider's wings unfurled, and Brishen shot off like a scarlet dart, fluttering through the air as he wheeled towards the great dam. Celia decided that she wasn't going to wait around for him to find out what was wrong. Waving her hand, she froze a large chunk of the water, and stepped onto it carefully. Crouching down to keep her balance, she rode the ice chunk like a boat, using her hydromancy to carry her downstream. Bending coolly and easily with every curve of the stream and never once losing her flow, she let the speeding current take her straight for the reservoir.

* * *

Richter slammed the telescope shut as he saw the two of them making their way towards the dam. They weren't supposed to be doing that. It would ruin everything. He had not come so far, just to see all of his careful planning and conniving undone in a moment just because of a fair maid and an interfering mancer. He started running along the branches like a squirrel, never losing his balance as he leapt adeptly from bough to bough. He wasn't going to get there in time to stop them from noticing the dam's weakness, but perhaps there was still time for him to stall them before they attempted to undo his work. And if there wasn't enough time for that…well, he thought as his mind turned to the many festooned across his body, he was well equipped if it came to that.

* * *

Brishen watched as Celia came floating into the reservoir. They had arrived at roughly the same time, though to be fair he had taken his time in getting there. He did a couple trial swoops past the face of the dam, looking for something out of the ordinary. His gut was telling him that something was afoot, and thus far on this journey his gut was one of the few things that hadn't steered him wrong. On the fourth pass, Brishen began to notice: tiny fissures in the surface of the dam itself, and even worse, they were starting to grow at an alarming rate. That meant only one thing.

"The dam's going to break!" Brishen yelled, something of a panic in his voice now. Down on her improvised boat, Celia's eyes widened.

"Are you sure?" she called up to him.

"Positive!" Brishen shouted back. "Come look!"

The fissures that had formed were slowly encroaching across the face of the dam like wild ivy, and water was trickling freely from it. Brishen watched as a large chunk of masonry was forcibly dislodged, and a full-blown leak sprung, angrily shooting water into the air and showering Brishen with the precursor to a much greater calamity. Hastily, Brishen grounded himself and tried to settle into the still-unfamiliar ready stance of hydromancy. But when he reached out to take control of the water, he felt the enormity of what lay in the reservoir, and he knew that with his meager knowledge he would be far from enough to stem the tide on his own.

"Celia!" he called as he tried desperately to hold back the water, even as more leaks gushed through the dam around him. "I need your help!" At once, Celia leapt from her ice block, and began falling down across the dam's broad surface. She called one of the recently sprung leaks to her and with a sharp motion of her arm, tamed it like a beast, feeling its flowing nature settling in around her feet. She began to ride it down, and as she did, she surveyed the situation. And in the pit of her stomach, she knew there was no way to save the dam. And it had been because they'd overloaded the reservoir. It had all been their fault.

As she touched down on the ground alongside Brishen to try and fight the futile battle ahead, she could only wonder what she had done.


	17. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Richter stopped himself as he reached the edge of the forest. From his high perch, he could see the dam starting to buckle and break, and his calm returned to him. There was nothing that Celia nor Brishen could do at this point. Celia, he could see, wasn't a strong enough hydromancer to control that much water, and if she wasn't strong enough then certainly her pupil wouldn't be. His plan would go forth unhindered, though of course there was now the unfortunate reality of Celia being killed in the flood. She couldn't hold it off forever, hydromancer or not. Richter felt a small pang of regret; maybe she would have made a good Freedom Fighter. But moments later he banished those thoughts from his head, and instead resolved to honor her memory by having a statue of her erected in New Drexelbaum, where she would be revered as a martyr.

But then, Richter saw something else, something that he knew would completely unravel his plan if he didn't deal with it immediately. Unsheathing a knife, he leapt down for the ground, his ever-present blade of grass rustling in his mouth. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up on his feet with his blades at the ready. He took off running for the site of the dam breakage, and hoped that he wouldn't be too late.

Brishen and Celia had far more than just their work cut out for them. They were out of their league, two amateur and untrained hydromancers attempting to hold back a massive tide strong enough to sweep an entire village and all its inhabitants off the face of the earth in an instant. And yet, they were the village of Drexelbaum's only hope, and with that knowledge weighing upon their young shoulders they had gritted their teeth and gone at the wave head-on. The dam's rapidly failing structure was struggling valiantly to contain something far beyond its scope, and Celia and Brishen were focusing their efforts on easing pressure on the wall. Of course, they were only working on an immediate solution. Neither had any idea of what they would do once the dam finally broke, or how they could stop it from happening.

Brishen took a risk to stop his hydromancy for just a second, and swept his staff through the air, sending a great blast of air arcing for the dam. It struck dully with a soft but echoing roar. The encroaching water splashed angrily against it, but still did not budge. Brishen was disheartened; there was something intimidating about seeing one's home element being rendered completely useless. He still did not entirely trust hydromancy, but his attempts at using aeromancy to solve their problem had proven to him that no matter his feelings, it was necessary. "It's a push and pulling motion…" he muttered to himself under his breath, trying to slip back into that relaxed state he had been in earlier. "It's a push and pulling motion…" He felt himself reaching out to the water, starting to mould it to his will, to control and bend it…

**KRACK.** A huge piece of masonry hit the ground in front of Brishen, and a brand new leak gushed forth, showering him with surprisingly cold water. He lost his composure immediately, and the leak burst with even more power behind it. Wildly trying to regain his stance and his composure, Brishen's mind searched madly for ideas.

"Try and turn it to ice!" he yelled to Celia between mouthfuls of water. Celia nodded and gritted her teeth, before waving her hands grandly about her. Immediately, one of the bigger leaks froze over, ice encrusting it and extending outward so that ice would fill the smaller fissures surrounding the breach. It seemed to hold, at least for a moment. But then, cracks began to rapidly appear in the ice's crystalline face, and moments later the water caused it to explode in a glassy shower of shards. To Brishen's dismay, he saw that the smaller fissures had ruptured when the ice rapidly melted, and now the leak was worse than ever.

He felt a deep rumbling in the ground, and as he looked up he saw the dam looming, breaking more and more by the second. Its masonry began to give with a colossal groan, like the last dying growls of some great, otherworldly beast, and instead of new leaks being sprung, it just began to crumble. Celia and Brishen exchanged a glance, and pushed against the coming tide with all their might. They both closed their eyes and braced themselves for the overwhelming tide, but to their surprise, it did not come. Brishen opened his eyes, and then they widened in awe as his jaw slackened. Great slabs of earth, jutting out like fangs, were climbing higher and higher into the air, the points seeming to tickle the sun. Brishen looked behind him wildly and saw Appa there, and standing in his shadow were Jack and a very intensely focused Otto.

"Don't stop now!" Jack yelled as Otto continued to raise more ridges of earth around them to help stop the flow of water. "He can't contain it all!" Brishen immediately turned back to the matter at hand, and saw the rushing water starting to work its way around and over the makeshift earth barriers. It was even starting to course its way through in certain points. Jack was right. It would not hold forever. It wouldn't even last thirty seconds, at the rate it was going. Brishen wasn't sure what else they could do, except keep trying to slow its path to Drexelbaum. All of Brishen's instincts told him that this wasn't the right way, that surely they could try it from a different angle, but he didn't know water, not the way someone like Jack or Celia would. He saw that Celia was struggling the same way he was, and that Otto was having just as tough a time of it. But he risked a look back to Jack, and saw the Water Tribe warrior starting to get a look of dawning comprehension on his face.

"We're doing it wrong!" he yelled out. "We can't stop it!" He drew his dirk and began running around them, dragging the blade in the dirt, he was so distracted by his idea. But as some more of Jack's yelling started to filter into Brishen's head, he realized that Jack wasn't dragging his dirt around out of absentmindedness. He was tracing something. "Otto!" Jack called. "Dig me some trenches! Follow my lines!" Otto nodded tersely, and completely shifted his stance. While creating the wall, he'd been standing upright, in a confrontational posture. Now, as he waved his arms and gouged deep wounds into the surface of the earth, he was crouched low and his root on the ground looked to be nigh unbreakable. Brishen watched as long lines traced themselves in the ground around his feet, and he noticed that they all seemed to be flowing in different directions.

Like the dam before it, Otto's makeshift earth barrier buckled and then collapsed, and the water flooded forth again, almost completely unabated. However, as soon as it hit the layers of trenches, Brishen watched as the once-unstoppable front of water began to divide itself between the many, far-reaching, and disparate trenches that Otto was digging with every successive movement of his arms. It made total sense, the more Brishen thought about it. Rather than trying to resist the water, they had to accept that the water had to flow somewhere rather than be caged. By redirecting the flow and dividing the power behind the tide, they could contain it far better than if they tried to meet it head-on. Following Celia's lead, he began to use his hydromancy to guide the water through Otto's canals, while Otto continued to dig them further and further out.

"No!" Something flashed through the air, and a knife embedded itself in the ground beside Brishen. Brishen saw Richter coming at them full tilt, drawing another knife as he went. Brishen broke off from his hydromancy, preparing to engage Richter. He didn't know what Richter was playing at, but in the very least he knew that throwing knives at them wasn't considered friendly behavior. But as he began to move towards the Freedom Fighter, Jack held up a hand as he brought his dirk to bear on Richter.

"Get back to work, Brishen. He's mine."

Jack immediately charged, and Richter threw another knife. It would have transfixed him in the chest, but Jack threw himself to the side, and the blade sailed harmlessly past him. He came out of his dive in a roll and sprung forward, bringing the dirk in for a slash to Richter's face. Richter leaned back to avoid the tip, and it was so close that his customary piece of grass was cut in two. Even as he leaned back he came in for a stab in Jack's gut with his left hand, trying to force him back so he could use distance to his advantage. Jack parried the thrust instead, and made a riposte that was countered by Richter's right knife. The Freedom Fighter straightened up and spat the hewn blade of grass at Jack's feet in contempt.

"You've ruined everything," he said with a deadly calm. He could all ready see that though there was a good deal of water about, his avenging tidal wave had been robbed of most of its power by the three mancers and Jack. His carefully laid out plan, so perfect in every way, was a complete failure. "My dream, my work, my vision…You've ruined all of it!" He jumped back and tossed another knife Jack's way. Jack swiped it out of the air with a pass from his dirk, and prepared to close in again. But as he started to run for Richter, a blast of fire exploded between the two.

"You are all under arrest!" bellowed a burly Dominion soldier. Behind him, a sizeable detail of troops stood at the ready, even as water flowed in trenches around them. "Stand down or be incinerated!" Richter and Jack exchanged glances. Slowly, both of them straightened up and disengaged from each other. Then, as one, they turned and threw themselves into combat with the very surprised unit of Dominion soldiers, who hadn't been expecting two children who looked for all the world like normal civilians to be such seasoned warriors. Jack twisted to avoid a gout of flame and returned with a brutal thrust to a soldier's belly, twisting the blade as he withdrew it. Richter heralded his coming with a wide sweep of his arm, sending five knives flying in different directions and embedding themselves in five different targets. Landing with the grace of a tumbler, he cast another blade at a soldier who was preparing to deploy pyromancy against Jack. The two erstwhile opponents had to work fast; if they failed to win quickly, their opponents would regain their bearings and even two warriors as adept as Jack and Richter would be overwhelmed.

Richter made to stab one of his assailants, but to his surprise, his knife sunk into nothing. He looked around, and then down. The earth had swallowed him up, seemingly; only his neck and his head were still sticking out. He saw Otto, Brishen, and Celia running for the fray, the remnants of the great wave on their heels. Otto leapt ahead of the other two mancers and stomped the ground, and immediately a plateau raised itself from the ground that Jack, Richter, Celia, and he were standing on, while Brishen took to the air in his glider. A pair of unfortunate Dominion soldiers were brought up on the plateau with them, but Jack and Richter dispatched them quickly. The water flowed past, angrily lapping at the sides of the plateau and sweeping off all the nearby Dominion soldiers. The five of them watched as the tide carried them out into the verdant fields surrounding the Ingwald forest, and though they were carried far, it warmed Jack, Celia, Brishen, and Otto's hearts to see that the tide would stop far short of Drexelbaum. They had saved the village.

Richter advanced on the soldier who was still stuck in the ground between the five of them. He drew a knife menacingly. "And now, just to deal with you," he said softly. The edge of the knife glinted dangerously.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Otto said casually. He stomped again, and suddenly the ground beneath Richter's feet opened up and swallowed him, leaving him in an identical position to the Dominion soldier. Richter struggled futilely, fury contorting his face.

"Otto, you traitor!" he yelled. "Let me go! Do you have any idea of what you're doing?" He strained, but he couldn't budge an inch. The ground had him held fast.

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Richter," Otto said, and there was a conviction in his voice that Richter hadn't heard before. "The Dominion will always be my enemy…but I don't think that we should be sacrificing the people we're protecting to fight the Dominion. If we do that," Otto said, "There'll be no one to protect." Richter opened his mouth to protest, but Otto snapped his fingers and a small band of earth clamped itself down over the rebel leader's mouth. Otto turned to the soldier, who flinched in fear.

"I'm not going to kill you," Otto said. "But if you don't tell me what I need to know, I'm going to leave you to the mercies of my knife-happy friend over there. Do you understand me?" The soldier nodded fearfully. Beneath his improvised gag, Richter was screaming. "So tell me," Otto said. "If you were to take geomancers prisoner from this area, where would they be shipped to?"

"The Great Divide," the soldier said quickly, fear still in his eyes. "A great canyon in the north, where we have geomancers mine our ores for us. It is the largest prison we keep here in the Earth Kingdoms. I swear, that's all I know!" He cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, as though doing that would somehow cause his fearsome assailants to disappear. Otto turned to Brishen, Jack, and Celia.

"I know you are heading north on your sky bison," Otto said. "I know it's an awful lot to ask of you, but…do you think I might be able to accompany you north?" He smiled sheepishly. "I'm a good geomancer, and I promise I can pull my weight…besides," he said, casting a glance back to the Ingwald, "I don't think I'll be welcome in the forest anymore." Brishen nodded and stepped forward. He held out a hand.

"We'd be glad to have you." Otto took it, and shook it. Brishen looked around and saw Appa floating casually in the temporary lake that the burst dam had created. Brishen smiled; his animal companion almost seemed to be enjoying himself. There was a small splash next to him, and a sopping-wet Momo flew through the air, a glistening trail following him. He cracked a smile. Even at the site of one of the greatest dangers they'd ever faced, Momo and Appa still found a way to be themselves and relax. And when this entire mess had blown over, Brishen thought, perhaps he could enjoy a long and relaxing swim himself…

* * *

The wound on the side of Count Hector's face had healed, more or less. He could see how the scar was going to look, and the very thought of it caused him to grimace with hatred as he thought of his rival, Diego. The sheer arrogance of that—that _child_. He glowered at his wall for a moment, and then dismissed his anger. Without that accursed spoiled prince here to actually vent it on, his rage was more or less worthless. He would have to take a more considered approach to things, but he had sworn to himself that Diego would die by his blade for the brutal scarring of the count's perfect face. There was a hollow-sounding knock on the metallic door. "Come in," the count called, his voice betraying boredom. A messenger, bearing several scrolls in his arms, entered.

"Several messenger hawks have arrived, milord," he said, laying the scrolls on the the count's table. "We believe they may have intelligence about the Scion." The count nodded and dismissed the man with an impatient wave of his hand. He reached for the first scroll, and unrolled it. Some intelligence that the Scion was heading north, and that rumors were sweeping across the Earthen countryside. The rumors part, Hector thought, could be useful in ferreting out people who were disloyal to the Dominion, but beyond that there wasn't much he could use.

But he picked up the fourth scroll in the pile and his eyes quickly scanned it. Ingwald forest, it said, and heading north. The north part was consistent, and it intrigued Hector to know where they were headed. They had all ready passed by Osterlitz. In fact, according to one of his best entrenched sources, they had actually passed through Osterlitz. And surely, they weren't heading to Erdenheim, which was far in the east. Perhaps they were headed to the Northern Water Tribe. He would have to see about getting that information somehow, so that perhaps he could head off his quarry, and more importantly, do so before Diego could get his grubby paws on the Scion.

He read the fifth scroll, one from another informant in the Ingwald area. It said much of what the previous scroll had said, but it added an interesting twist: the Scion had apparently picked up a new traveling companion, a geomancer according to local rumors. And Hector knew where most geomancers in the area could now be found, courtesy of the Dominion of Fire. He got up and strode out of his quarters. He had to give some well-placed orders. He and his elites would be going ashore…


	18. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Though it had been a strange thing to get used to, Brishen was now completely comfortable having Otto travel with them. As he'd promised, he had pulled his weight, and Brishen had found him to be pleasant and helpful, if not a little driven. He would anxiously look at the map and compare it to the terrain below, as if expecting the Great Divide to yawn open below them at any moment. In a strange turn of things, it was Jack who seemed to trust Otto the most, still grateful that Otto had set him free at the crucial moment in Richter's plan. Celia and Brishen had both given Jack grief for this, but he didn't seem to care.

As for the mission itself, feelings were mixed. All of them agreed that liberating the prisoners being held in the Great Divide would be the right thing to do, but while no one said anything within earshot of Otto, Brishen, Jack, and Celia all wondered if they would be able to, or indeed if they had time to. It was imperative to get Brishen far north as soon as possible, to speed the downfall of the Fire Lord. From what information they had gleaned, the geomancers were kept in metal holding cells at night, and during the daytime they were forced to use their talents to provide the Dominion of Fire with metals and other precious materials from deep within the earth. It was a great way to damage morale amongst prisoners, Brishen thought; the prisoners were forced to work with their element of choice all around them, and yet they could do nothing to save themselves. And furthermore, their most valuable talents were being put to work in a way that would only help their enemies conduct war on their beloved kingdom. Jack supposed that hostages were being kept at the Great Divide to keep the geomancers in order, or else some kind of riot in a rocky canyon would have threatened to overwhelm even the formidable prison garrison.

Breaking in would be a daunting prospect, but Jack had a plan, as always. But the liberation of a Dominion prison was a very tall order, even for the newly-rediscovered Scion. Brishen admitted it to himself: he didn't really want to do it. But Otto had saved all of them at the dam, and beyond that it was his duty to help out people when they were troubled by the Dominion. In truth, he had no reason not to do it. At least, no reason he was willing to use. And he knew that if Otto tried it on his own, he would end up in horrible trouble of some kind, and Brishen didn't think that he could live with that on his conscience.

The only other thing that was troubling him were his visions. Every night now, he was having the same dream as before, of the mysterious figure that Brishen had named León, with the rolling fog surrounding them all. He knew that it was important, but for some reason he couldn't figure out the significance of this man or the fog he enshrouded himself in. It was frustrating to Brishen, someone who thought of himself as fairly well-versed on spiritual matters. Neither Celia nor Jack had been able to offer him any particularly helpful advice; Celia thought that perhaps he should try sleeping more, to see if the vision went elsewhere, while Jack tried to convince him that the kind of dreams he was having were entirely dependent on what food Brishen ate before he went to bed.

At least, Brishen thought as he strode back into camp, they had been relatively safe. They had been flying for close on a week since Ingwald. Their pace had been slowed by a heavy amount of Dominion patrols in the area, but they had not yet been detected. Brishen was in particular worried about seeing Diego again; his random appearance on Katarin Island had marked him in Brishen's mind as a dogged and dangerous enemy. And then there had been that dreadnought fleet that had almost taken them down in the skies above Katarin. Brishen didn't know why, but he felt as though he hadn't see the last of it, despite their plans to stay as inland as was practical.

Celia, Jack, and Otto were huddled around the fire when Brishen returned. Momo was curled off to the side, purring softly as he slept. The three looked up as Brishen approached, and seeing that it was him, went back to what they were doing. Brishen sat down between Otto and Celia. Before he could say anything in greeting, Jack spoke up.

"Otto and I did some scouting today," he said. "The Great Divide is about an hours' march away from this place, and we may be able to orchestrate the breakout even as early as tomorrow." He began to trace a map in the dirt with his finger, but the stopped to himself and cast Otto a pleading look. Otto nodded in understanding immediately, and tapped his finger lightly on the ground. Immediately, a very detailed map of a canyon began to draw itself in the soil. Brishen was impressed with Otto's fine control skills; they seemed to be just as formidable as his large-scale geomancy. He looked at the map, and it seemed to illustrate a very deep, very wide canyon with a complex of some kind in the absolute center of it. As the map continued to draw itself, Jack began to lay out his plan, indicating things with the tip of an arrow.

"The Great Divide is very wide and has very high canyon walls," he said, "but we can bypass that because we have Appa. The place is heavily guarded by Dominion soldiers, and as far as we can tell they're all pyromancers. Normally, I'd suggest that we break them out at night, but they're all locked in their cells at night. It's riskier, but easier, to pull off the breakout at day, when they're all out and about.

"Otto and I will tunnel in here," Jack continued, pointing to a spot just outside the complex. "From there, we'll attempt to locate the hostages and free them. While that's going on, we need a large-scale distraction. Brishen, I want that to be you riding on Appa. Celia will take advantage of your distraction to start breaking chains off prisoners with her hydromancy. You are up to that, right, sis?" he asked, looking up. Celia nodded. "Good," Jack said. "Otto and I will tunnel back through the canyon with the hostages safely, where you will meet us with Appa. The rendezvous point will be here." He pointed at a spot just outside the canyon. "Celia should be leading the freed prisoners to that point, and from there they should be able to handle themselves. They'll be a small army of geomancers in their element."

Brishen nodded as he absorbed the plan. It was a good plan. It was a little complex, and there were a lot of risks involved. In particular, he didn't like the idea of Celia being left on her own, but she seemed sure of herself. And Brishen decided that if Celia could be sure of herself, then surely so could he. For the next hour, they figured out minor details, a rough time table, and then Jack cut things off so everyone could get the sleep that they would need. Celia and Jack unrolled their Water Tribe bedrolls, while Otto laid himself down on the ground and used his geomancy to make it soft to his touch. They were asleep in moments, and as Brishen nestled himself into Appa's soft flank, he followed suit.

* * *

Celia hugged the earth-toned cloak close to her body as she slowly slipped down from one rock to the next. For the past half hour, she had been carefully and slowly descending down into the canyon, making sure to stay in cover and make as little noise as possible. Nonetheless, it was nerve-racking. In a way, her part of the plan was the most crucial, and if she was compromised it could all fall apart. She had filled up an extra waterskin for the job, and figured that she could use her water to undo the locks on the prisoners' shackles. Of course, it was a very tentative plan, and she'd never tested it out before. She tried to banish the doubt from her mind, though; it was bad luck.

She took another step, and felt her heart flutter for a moment as her foot touched nothing. Then, relief swelled as she touched down upon a ledge softly. Slowly, she brought the other foot down and eased herself onto the ledge. But as she did, the hem of her earthen cloak rustled against some gravel, and before she could do anything, it fell off the ledge and tumbled down the side of the canyon, kicking up a small cloud of dust and causing a surprising clatter. "Who's there?" a gruff voice with a Dominion accent barked out immediately. Celia stayed deadly quiet, afraid to even breathe for fear of being hurt. She tugged the cloak in, lest its hem be caught fluttering in the breeze. The silence seemed to stretch on for hours. Then, she heard the sound of footsteps growing more and more distant, and breathed deeply. She risked a look over the rock she was crouched behind. She saw a burly soldier, a giant in his armor, stalking away from her, back towards the sweating chain gangs of geomancers who were working away underneath harsh Dominion whips. She allowed herself one more moment of relief before she began slipping down the slope again, getting closer and closer to her goal.

* * *

Dieter took a moment to wipe his brow of sweat, and was rewarded for it with a lash across the back. He buckled, but did not cry out; he refused to give his captors that kind of satisfaction, and he would until his entire back was crisscrossed in the vinelike scars those whips left. Resuming his stance, he began shoving earth out of his way again, boring deeper into the ground. He had heard rumors that the Dominion had been running this complex since the beginning of the war, and that when they had first built it the canyon was only half the size it was now. He wasn't sure if he believed it or if it was just more Dominion propaganda to demoralize the prisoners, but as he toiled away, he imagined that a hundred years of captured geomancers whittling away at the earth might be able to carve out something of this magnitude. The canyon had proven to be rich in iron ore and coal, which only served to worsen the Dominion's greed.

The sun beat down on him and his chain gang almost as strongly as the whips did. There was no shade in sight; not a single stalk of grass, let alone a tree, grew down here. He wondered if it had always been so barren, or if the Dominion had swept away any life in the Great Divide before turning it into a prison. In his year here, he had seen only birds flying over; it was as though not a single animal lived in the canyon itself. So it was to his great surprise when he saw a small trail of debris fall from one of the upper ledges to his far left. Immediately, the nearest guard rushed over to investigate the noise, but there didn't appear to be a repeat, and the guard quickly returned to his post. Oftentimes, Dieter yearned to take opportunities like that one to let loose with his geomancy, to bring this infernal canyon down around their Dominion oppressors and have the earth swallow them and their cursed machines whole. The only thing that stopped him and every other prisoner from doing so was the eternal threat the Dominion posed to the children kept inside the complex.

It was despicable, using children for leverage in warfare, but Dieter was completely unsurprised that the Dominion would stoop so low. The prisoners wanted their freedom badly, and would have rather died than stay under the Dominion's heel for but one more day. And yet, none of them wanted the death of a child on their conscience, not enough to make an escape attempt. A few foolish ones had tried, and they were brutally cut down by gouts of flame as they tried to escape. The furthest anyone had gotten was just outside the canyon, and perhaps he would have succeeded had he not run into a long patrol. Instead, the prisoners had been treated to the sight of his broken and burned body being roughly kicked into the prison yard by his captors, followed by a long and stern lecture from the warden. In every way, the Dominion was trying to break its prisoners, and that horrible incident had only been one part in a full-on war waged on their minds.

A lonesome horn echoed across the canyon wall, and was answered by a chorus of others. That was the alarm. Something was wrong. Dieter looked around wildly, expecting to see some desperate geomancer making chaos with his abilities or trying to steal away from the canyon. But he saw fire being launched out of the corner of his eye, and saw it was being shot upward, at something that was causing a good deal of alarm. Dieter's eyes opened widely; it appeared to be some great beast, vast and white, with six legs and long black horns. It sailed through the air, and as Dieter looked more closer, he saw that it had a rider, a young boy jubilantly riding it through a sea of fire blasts and dodging them with the expert air of an eagle in its prime. He watched as almost every soldier in the prison was being scrambled against it, and the sky soon ran orange with the brilliant cones of flame being fired at the thing.

"Stay calm," came a voice behind him. He turned around, surprised—the voice he had heard was most definitely female. A young girl, obviously foreign from her complexion and her garb, was crouched low in the shadows of a large rock. He watched as she took out a water skin, and with a few gestures from her hand called its contents out into the air before sending it snaking into the lock on Dieter's ankle shackles. He realized that she was a hydromancer, and that she was trying to free him somehow. Even as that thought crossed his mind, he heard a small _click_ and for the first time in years, he was able to lift his ankle without that accursed weight attached to it. A small look of wonder crossed his face as he looked at her. She held a finger to her lips. "We're freeing the hostages now," she whispered.

"Who are you?" Dieter asked. "Who has come to rescue us?" The girl was all ready starting to move on to the nearest worker. But nonetheless, he heard her response, loudly and clearly.

"The Scion."

* * *

"This way!" Jack said, running down the corridor. Otto followed close behind. His effectiveness within the metal building was limited, but he was good enough at unarmed combat that he was able to take care of himself. They had managed to make their entrance to the complex largely unnoticed. The few guards that they had come across, Jack had managed to dispatch before any alarms were raised. Moments later, Brishen had begun his part of the plan, and alarms echoed through the hallways. Jack was about to rush forward, but Otto grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged them into a side corridor. They stayed quiet as a unit of guards surged past them towards the disturbance outside, and once the hallway was clear of the sound of tromping boots, they proceeded.

"Halt!" They turned around, and saw a guard, obviously one who was a little slow to action, had stopped on his way outside and was calling after them. "Halt!" he called again. Jack dodged to the side as a blast of flame seared the ground where he had just been standing. He began running for the lone pyromancer, his blade flashing menacingly. The guard fired off two more shots, and one of them singed the top of Jack's shoulder. The Water Tribe warrior winced, but continued on his charge, and in moments he was far too close for the hapless guard to shoot fire at him. With surprising swiftness, Jack laid into the man with the flat of his blade, rapping him sharply on the temple, the knee, and then in the solar plexus, forcing the man to his knees. Otto grabbed him by the lapel and slammed him into the nearest wall, holding him there while the man futilely struggled. Jack laid the point of his dirk on the man's throat.

"Where are the hostages?!"

* * *

Celia was near the edge of the canyon facing the rendezvous point, a large gang of geomancers alongside her. Once she had begun freeing prisoners, they had thrown their subtlety to the wind and begun breaking chains left and right with their respective elemancies. The reassuring thought of the hostages being safe had been all it took to re-energize the prisoners, and now they prepared for their mass breakout. The guards were offering increasing amounts of resistance as more realized what was really happening, but without any leverage on the geomancers, they were at a severe disadvantage in the rocky canyon.

"Up the canyon wall!" Celia yelled out. "Make for the rendezvous point I told you about!" She turned around even as she heard the geomancers starting their ascent, their escape heralded by the sound of rock grinding against rock. She looked up to the sky and saw Appa swerving about in lazy loops, Brishen guiding him through a forest of fire without a single singe so far. She smiled as she saw the young aeromancer doing his work—he truly had a flair for this sort of thing. She wondered how he was doing, but didn't have too much more time to think. One of the geomancers, an older man with an impressive grey beard and a build like a blacksmith's, yelled down from the top of the canyon wall, "There's nobody up here!" That caused Celia's blood to run cold. Otto and Jack should have been back by then. Where were they?

* * *

Jack and Otto ran through the corridors of the prison, Jack carefully retracing the steps that it took for them to get to the hostages' cells. Releasing them had been a quick affair, and now they encountered no resistance in the hallways. Jack supposed that the escape was in full swing now, with the escapees probably in battle with their former captors. He hoped that they would be able to slip away with the hostages in the chaos of the battle relatively unscathed. He looked at the scared and desperate children running alongside him, and felt pangs of both pity and anger at how they had been treated. They looked malnourished, their eyes sunken and strangely dead. A few bore the welts that came from a severe lashing. There had been six of them in all, and though they had been grateful to be rescued from the Great Divide, coaxing them to get over their fears and do something was still a chore in its own right.

"Just a bit further," Jack called as their procession rounded a corner. "The entrance to the tunnel is just outside the door!" The children were tiring, though. They hadn't had proper meals in who knew how long, and they were rarely ever let outside of their cells. In a strangely sickening moment of clarity, Jack was reminded of an Earthen dish he'd eaten once, called "veal." Gritting his teeth and banishing the thought quickly from his mind, he pressed on. In the distance, he saw the door and not a single guard in sight. With a cry of exultation, he threw the door open and sunlight flooded across the emaciated forms of the child hostages. He looked around, and was surprised to see that there was not a pitched battle going on, as he had planned. Celia had been too successful, it seemed, and now the guards were starting to head back to their posts. One of them saw the would-be escapees and blew on their alarm horn. Immediately, units of guards began swarming towards them, and it was far too many for Otto and Jack to handle on just their own. The two exchanged grim looks.

* * *

Up above on Appa, Brishen saw Jack and Otto, the child hostages in tow, ringed by enemy soldiers in a deadly standoff. _Spirits_, he thought, his eyes going wide, _they're not going to make it out of here._ Brishen shook Appa's reins, and the sky bison started his descent. The wanderer gripped his staff tightly, his knuckles turning white as his heart began to beat a little faster. He knew what he had to do.

The front rank of Dominion soldiers was blown over when something hit the ground at an amazing speed, sending out an immense blast of wind in every direction. A veritable storm of dust was kicked up by the impact, but Jack and Otto both knew who had caused it. With an otherworldly battle cry, Brishen rushed out of the dust cloud and swept his staff across the air, bowling over two more units of soldiers. He craned his neck behind him over his shoulder, and saw with relief that Appa had made his landing easily in the zone that Brishen had cleared out for him. Jack had immediately understood, and started herding the children up Appa's beaverlike tail and into his saddle. He mounted up himself, but Otto stayed, intent on aiding Brishen.

"Go!" Brishen yelled. "I'll catch up!" To demonstrate he meant business, he twirled his staff all around him, cutting at the air and creating a soft roaring noise before all that momentum he built up released itself in a cyclone that played havoc on the assembled Dominion guards. It was enough for Otto, who springboarded himself up to Appa's saddle with a column of earth as his launcher. Brishen watched as Appa lifted off and was quickly gone, disappearing into the clouds. He felt victory warm him like a new dawn; their desperate band had succeeded in emptying one of the harshest prisons the Dominion maintained in the Earth Kingdoms. Now, all he had to do was fly his way out. But as he was plotting out the course of his escape in his head, he failed to address the soldier behind him, the one who hit him soundly across the back of the head with his cudgel.

As the ground came rushing up to greet Brishen, the last thought he had was that this was a most undignified way for the Scion to die.


	19. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

When Brishen awoke, the first thing he felt was a deep throbbing pain on the back of his head. It was unlike anything else that he'd felt before in his life, as though Appa had just stepped on him. He groaned softly, and felt his dry throat scratch feebly. He lolled his head to one side, and then to the next, and his senses immediately jumpstarted when he realized that his arms and legs were chained in place, leaving him standing in a permanent spread eagle position. He didn't bother struggling; he could feel that his limbs were held fast. Instead, he cast his eyes around the room he was in. It appeared that the entire thing was metal, from floor to ceiling. Dominion banners hung from the walls, and Brishen noticed that they were immobile. That meant that this room wasn't close to any place outside, or else wind would have been coming through. He felt vibrations beneath his feet, and that much told him that he was moving.

"He's awake!" Brishen snapped his head in the direction of the voice, and the pain in his head immediately made him wish he hadn't. The voice had been muffled, and now Brishen saw the metal door directly in front of him. Save for a small window with three bars in it, it was completely featureless and looked nigh-impregnable. The guard outside was now watching him with suspicion, and for a moment Brishen met his gaze and held it. Then, the guard broke off and saluted someone down the hall. There was a heavy ringing sound as the great iron door opened, and two massive soldiers in golden armor walked in, taking places at the sides of the doorway. And in between them came a man, one who Brishen immediately knew to be everything wrong with the Dominion of Fire. He had a patrician face, though it was marred by a vanity scar on his cheek. Arguably, though, his two most noticeable features were his large sideburns and his predatory smile.

"At last we meet, o Scion," the man crowed in a grating voice that perfectly matched his sharklike demeanor. "I don't suppose you know me, but you will soon enough. My name is Count Hector, commander of the Dominion's conquest of the Earth Kingdoms." He slowly began to approach Brishen. Brishen moved his arm to try and distance himself, but all that succeeded in doing was jangling his chains. Hector noticed this, and his grin only grew wider. There was not a shred of mirth in his laughter. "Struggle all you like, young Scion," he said, drawing closer. "You and your friends may have emptied out one of our major prisons in the Earth Kingdoms, but my troops will round up the escapees eventually. And besides," Hector said, leaning in, "I would gladly let every other prisoner the Dominion has go free if it meant capturing you." He straightened up and looked at Brishen, almost daring him to say something. Brishen merely responded with a baleful glare.

"You're on a ship, headed back to my flagship just off the coast," Hector said. "We'll reach it by morning, and then the next human being you'll ever see is the Fire Lord, right before he takes you down to his dungeons and does what he pleases." His chest swelled with pride, and his shoulders seemed to arch higher, strengthened by his impending victory. "You're the only thing that stands in the way of our nation's glorious victory," he glowed, and "now they'll have me to thank for your downfall."

"If you kill me," Brishen spat, "then you're the greatest fool of them all."

"Oh no," Hector said, "I wouldn't dream of that. As nice as it would be to proudly claim myself to be executioner of the last vestige of the Wind Folk, killing you would only make you reincarnate into one of the Water Tribes. And though I don't doubt it to be within the scope of our mighty military," he said airily, "I'd much rather avoid the trouble of exterminating an entire people before we need to. So, no, Scion, I won't kill you. I'll leave you very much alive. The question for you will be whether you'll still want to be alive by the time you reach the homeland." On that suitably dramatic line, the count, who had always had a flair for the theatric, turned to leave. Brishen, however, decided that if he could not break free immediately he would at least force the count to sacrifice his dignity. He breathed in deeply, and exhaled. The small gale hit the count square in the back, causing his cape to billow up and for him to fall flat on his face as if tripped. The count scrambled to his feet and grimaced at the Scion.

"You might think yourself clever, o Scion," he said, "but remember which of us is prisoner here." With that, he swept out of the room, and his two golden-armored guards followed him. The door slammed shut once more, and Brishen stood there, bound and completely helpless.

* * *

"We shouldn't have left him," Celia said, blinking back tears. Jack patted her on the shoulder.

"Celia, it's not your fault," he assured her. "You did your part of the plan perfectly. All of these geomancers have you to thank for their freedom." He gestured to the recent escapees, who had been on the lam with them for a day now. They had seen from the canyon mouth as Brishen had been captured, but before they could mount any kind of attempt to break him out, he had been handed off to the procession of some high-ranking officer, whose retinue had immediately turned and headed for the sea. It had been a difficult choice, but Jack and Celia had agreed that Brishen would have wanted them to ensure the safety of the prisoners first, and so they had run off. But now, after a full day and night had passed, a strange feeling of hopelessness was starting to settle in.

"We could have done…I don't know, _something,_" she continued, her shoulders shaking slightly. She was doing her best not to cry. Jack's lips pursed themselves in concern. He knew for a fact that she hadn't slept at all the previous night; he hadn't, either.

"Brishen is going to be fine," Jack said softly. "He's the Scion. It's his destiny to be fine."

Small bands of escapees were starting to break off as they neared their old homes, and the children, who had been orphans, were handed over to a local convent of sisters to keep them out of harm's way. Roughly a dozen geomancers still remained, all of them from Otto's town. Otto, for his part, had been reasonably sorrowful at the loss of Brishen to the Dominion. He had tried his best to stay somber, despite how happy he was to be reunited with his father, Dieter, and his elder brother, Hans. Immediately afterward, they had approached Celia and Jack and offered their help, but the siblings had declined. If Brishen was being brought to sea, then geomancers would be of little help to them. Dieter was recovering from prison life well enough to take over as leader, they rationalized, and they resolved to set out the next morning in search of Brishen.

"Herr Jack. Frau Celia." Both of the siblings looked up. Dieter was the only one who used those formal titles with them; he was an old-fashioned man, he said, but he believed in common courtesy. He bowed cautiously. "I hope I am not interrupting," he said. His voice was low, but sounded cultured and well educated, a tone that was at odds with his burly physique. Jack shook his head. "I merely wish to ask if you two are not sure that you do not need our help. We feel badly that you have lost your friend at the cost of our freedom, and we would gladly fight for his just as much as he fought for ours."

"Thank you, Dieter," Celia said, composing herself. "But we think it would be best if we conducted our search alone." Dieter nodded, a little sadly.

"You will be gone before we awaken, yes?" he asked.

"That's correct," Jack replied. "We intend to rise with the sun and head west for the sea. Hopefully, with a days' hard flying, we can overtake them. All we can hope is that they haven't joined the fleet-at-large by then." There was an uncomfortable silence that hung over the three of them as they contemplated what it would mean if Brishen had been put in the care of the Dominion armada.

"I understand," Dieter said. "If that is the case, then allow me to thank you both for your bravery and the help that you gave my son." He bowed again, a strangely fitting old-world gesture for the man. "If you should ever need the help of me and my village anytime in your travels, you will always have allies here. We owe a great debt to the Scion and his companions, and we will be glad to repay it someday."

"Thank you, Dieter," Celia said. Jack smiled a little, and nodded in agreement. With that, Dieter turned to go help his people set up camp, and Jack turned back to tending the fire. Momo curled up beside it, basking in its warmth, and Celia slowly slid herself into her bedroll. When the muffled sobs of worry began to come from the depths of the bedroll, he pretended not to hear.

* * *

The six motley figures stood on the deck of the _Burning Blade_, looking very out of place compared to the regimented and orderly Dominion soldiers. Diego looked them over once before addressing them. "You have all been contacted by me for one reason: to find a dangerous fugitive from the Dominion," he said. "According to any and all reputable sources, you six are the best bounty hunters in the area, so I expect results." Bounty hunters. It was a distasteful thought, but Diego decided that he would have to be resourceful if he were going to compete against everything that Hector had at his disposal. He knew the count would completely disregard his order to cease his search for the Scion. It was another complication, but Diego was confident that enlisting the best trackers for hire that he could find would be a step in the right direction.

"The hunters around you are your competition," Diego said. "The one who brings the Scion to me will receive his own weight in gold, while the rest will get nothing. I will not be paying for a job that you fail to do." He let that sink in, and saw some annoyance on the faces of two hunters. Immediately, Diego knew neither of them would be the one to bring in the Scion. If they weren't confident enough in their own tracking abilities to feel they could compete for this bounty, then they wouldn't be of much help. Well, he supposed, that left four who seemed to be completely at ease with what they were doing. "The most important thing," Diego said, "is that you bring him to me alive. And keep in mind that I will be searching for him as well." He surveyed them one last time before curtly dismissing them. Immediately, they shifted off to start on their hunt, but one remained. She was a young woman of remarkable, even deadly beauty, with slightly darker skin and long black hair. She had a spiral snake tattoo on her shoulder and a certain frosty air about her. When she spoke, it was with the lilting accent Diego recognized as being from Remas, an island south of the Dominion also known as the Isle of Corsairs.

"If you want me to find the Scion," she said, "I require some material of his. Something he might have touched or owned." Diego raised an eyebrow.

"Do you intend to sniff him out?" The woman let an enigmatic half-smile, half-smirk break out over her face.

"Perhaps. Do you have what I require?" Diego nodded and gestured to one of his attendants. The man scuttled over.

"Bring up the furs from the Southern Water Tribe," he said, and the man nodded at once before shuffling off to fetch what he had been bidden. He returned moments later with a small bag, which he handed to Diego with the utmost care. By contrast, Diego very casually pushed it into the woman's hands. "That bag contains fur from the Scion's pet sky bison," Diego said. "I cannot think of any reason why the two would be separated. On the few occasions I've been fortunate enough to find him myself, that thing has been their sole means of escape. If you find it, you will find him."

"_Prego_," she said. He wasn't sure what that meant; denizens of Remas had their own language, a slightly different and corrupted version of the Dominion's Old Tongue. Its words slurred and flowed together, and their intonation varied wildly from word to word. But in any case, though the word was unfamiliar, he took it to mean "Thank you," or something along those lines.

He was a little intrigued by her now. She was showing initiative, far more than the other five had been. "What is your name, o huntress?" he asked her.

"Lucrezzia Luccini, of Remas," she said. "I am the best tracker in all the Earth Kingdoms, and it will be by my hand that the Scion will be delivered to you." With that, she turned without another word and stalked off towards the exit ramp.

"That," Inigo said, watching her go, "is quite a woman." Diego couldn't bring himself to disagree.

* * *

The night was calm, with a slight fog rolling across the sea. Count Hector was strolling the deck of the ship, and couldn't help but feel confined by how small it was compared to his precious _Iron Fist_, the pride and joy of the Dominion armada. Well, he told himself, they would be aboard the _Fist _again soon enough, and until then all he had to do was to keep the Scion safe. They had remained in port for a day or so while they searched for any particularly dangerous escapees from the Great Divide that could have been brought back to the Fire Lord alongside the Scion, but they had disembarked once no fugitives had been found. Scion or not, that stung. But, Hector decided, it was a small victory for their enemies when the war had just been lost for them, with their rallying point now in chains in the hold below.

By daybreak, everything would be in motion, and with the Scion off the board…nothing stood in Hector's way. He would be able to rise in esteem in the court like he had always deserved to. Diego would be more of a disgrace than he all ready was, no doubt Octavio would kill him for his failure. Araña, his younger sister, would be forced to bend her knee to him. The Fire Lord would see in him what he had always failed to see before: a worthy successor, one who had removed his own and Octavio's greatest obstacle to victory from their path. By daybreak, Hector would have changed the entire world, and indeed the course of history.

Suddenly, an explosion in the water rocked the boat. Hector stumbled, but quickly regained his balance by grabbing onto a railing. "What's going on?" he demanded of the nearest sailor.

"We're under attack!" the sailor called out over the sound of another explosion in the water. Hector cursed. Someone was firing artillery of some kind at them. Their aim left a lot to be desired, thankfully, but they couldn't be counted on to stay that inaccurate for long. Hector cursed the damnable fog that they couldn't see their assailants. For all he knew, it was a surprise attack by the local king's navy. More likely, though, it was a crew of pirates who didn't know what they were dealing with. Another explosion, this one far closer to the ship than before, rocked the whole deck, and Hector felt sea water splash onto his shoulder and chin.

"Full speed ahead!" Hector bellowed, determined to outrun their pursuer. And yet, he looked behind him and saw through the fog that there was an outline of a ship, backlit and steadily getting closer. A second later, the ship burst through the fog cover and Hector was able to get a good look at it. It was a wooden ship, but one of a different design than any he'd seen before. Its keel was much narrower, its mast far taller and with great blue sails billowing in the wind. He saw on its bow, in place of the traditional maiden carving was that of a blue-faced demon with a fierce glare and gnarled fangs. It pulled up alongside Hector's ship with surprising speed, and easily kept abreast. The ship rocked violently again as their pursuers unleashed a full-on broadside, geomancers below deck firing off great boulders at the Dominion ironclad. A few harmlessly bounced off, but at such close range and in such volume, significant dents began to appear in the ship's armor. Hector yelled for return fire, but his ship lacked the broadside power their pursuer commanded. Hector gritted his teeth as he prepared to be boarded. He knew what this ship was, and who captained it.

The _Blue Spirit _and her crew had come to do what they did best.


	20. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Like ghosts, the pirates took to the deck of the Dominion ship. They wore masks, and in the foggy moonlight they looked for all the world like the avenging spirits of those lost at sea, as the legends claimed they were. In the night, the Dominion troops couldn't see their black ropes, and so it looked as though their otherworldly assailants were floating through the air before they landed on the deck and started attacking wantonly. The Dominion sailors rushed to meet them in battle, but even from the outset it was clear that they were both outnumbered and fighting a defensive battle in a very undesirable position.

Hector drew his sabre and warily looked around as the battle raged. Blasts of flame were being fired off, but everything was so muddled that it looked as though both sides were engaging in pyromancy. Doubtlessly, Hector thought, this was a desired result, an attempt to confuse their prey while they ransacked the ship. He did not believe in all of the lore that surrounded the _Blue Spirit_ and its crew, even if his superstitious underlings did. He was sure that they were all just normal men who dressed as spirits to inspire fear, and Hector had to admit that it was a sound principle. He would consider employing a similar tactic with his men, he decided. But first, he had the far more pressing matter of getting out of the situation alive.

A pirate stumbled close to Hector, and the count punched him bodily in the face with the basket hilt of his sword. The man dropped instantly, but before Hector could make the kill stab, another man blocked Hector's sword with his own. Hector slashed at him, but the man blocked and counterthrusted. Hector gritted his teeth. These pirates were good, almost as good as him. He wondered why his own lackeys couldn't be as competent. Even now, they were all struggling against a pirate. Only his elite guards, his golden-armored Seraphim, were having any kind of success, and yet frustratingly there were still no real casualties on the pirate side, which only lent credence to their ghost legend in the eyes of his superstitious crew.

The battle was swirling all around him, but Hector could all ready see that this was not going to go well for his men. This ship was all but lost, and it would be a far greater loss to the Dominion if he were to have been slain before his time by such an ignominious thing as pirates. No, he was of greater service to Fire Lord Octavio alive. He made for the nearest boat, a small coracle on the side of the deck, and with a practiced ease heaved it into the water below. He took one last look around at the raging melee, and for good measure blasted a cone of flame at a group of pirates. Then, he leapt over the side of the ship and landed in the small escape craft. It rocked violently on his landing, but did not tip, and in a moment it steadied itself. He took out the oar, and began paddling. He felt great disappointment that the Scion had eluded him once more, this time because of unfortunate interference by corsairs. But he decided that the Scion would be just as miserable in the company of pirates as he might be under Hector's whip. Besides, he knew this would not be the last he would see of the Scion.

Destiny had told him so.

* * *

Brishen was struggling against his bonds, even though Hector had told him not to. Sweat was starting to soak into his inner clothes, and still he tried his best to break himself free. He heard the sounds of rumbling feet upstairs, and from the way they were moving it sounded as though they were either having a full-scale ball, or else a full-scale brawl. He wished that air, for all its versatility, could for once wield the material power that the other three did, if only so he would be able to break his bonds. And if these attackers proved to be unsympathetic to his plight as a prisoner, then he was in very deep trouble. He was trapped, and if he died, the hopes of the world at ever regaining peace died with him.

He saw a figure flit past the narrow window on the door, and he was taken aback. Its grotesque face and billowing cloaks made it look as though it were a demon of some kind, a malevolent spirit from the chansons that Celia had sung to him before. Brishen watched with mounting horror as the figure backtracked, and stared into the cell for a moment. Brishen tried to meet the thing's gaze, but even he looked away. The spirit cocked its head to one side. "Oy!" he called out. "We got a prisoner here, and he looks important!" Brishen heard the sounds of more footfalls on the iron corridor and in moments there was a loud clanging on the other side of the metal door. Suddenly, it fell flat onto the floor, its hinges twisted and broken, and the loud clatter it made was still ringing in Brishen's ears.

Brishen found a blade tickling his throat. One of the mysterious things was holding a sword to him. He cautiously lifted his chin, throwing his face into relief. "Cor blimey, he's just a lad!" one of the things said. Another shook its head, and Brishen noticed that there was something strangely detached about the way he moved his neck…before realizing that they were all wearing masks. He allowed himself a modicum of relief. These were men, at least, mortal men that could be reasoned with. The one with the sword to Brishen's throat spoke slowly.

"Tell us," he said. "Why are you a prisoner? What'd you do, steal some food tweren't yours? Maybe you killed a man?" Brishen would have shaken his head, but doing so would have caused him to inadvertently slit his own throat.

"I'm the Scion," he said. "I'm an enemy of the Dominion of Fire. Please, set me free." Slowly, the sword dropped from Brishen's sword. The three masked men in his cell looked from one to another, as if expecting one of them to have the definitive answer, but none of them seemed to know any more than the next man. "I can prove it if you unbind me," Brishen offered. "I know how to command two different branches of elemancy." One of the men cocked his head suspiciously.

"I thought the Scion was supposed to know all four branches," he said, almost accusingly. Brishen tried to shrug apologetically, but bound as he was, the gesture merely looked as though he were trying to shirk his chains.

"I'm still learning," he said. The three of them looked amongst themselves once more, and then the one with the sword nodded.

"We'll free you," he said, "but try anything, and I promise you we'll paint the deck of this whole ship with your blood, boy." He turned to one of his cohorts. "Go get Jean Luc, and tell him to bring his axe," he said. "And then send along a message to the captain that we got ourselves a new member of the crew."

* * *

"Captain!" The call rang out across the deck of the _Blue Spirit_, even above the diminishing din of the battle. The deck hands of the _Spirit_ all moved out of their fellow crewman's way as he ran across the bridge from one ship to the next, and then started running across the deck towards the captain's quarters. The man stopped and rapped one of the deckhands smartly on the shoulder. "Oy," he said. "Where's the captain at? He in his quarters?" The deckhand shook his head.

"I expect he's below deck, manning the guns," the man said. His calm manner in the face of such danger would have been unsettling to most, but these raids were business as usually to the crew of the _Spirit_. The runner nodded, and barreled across the deck, leaving everyone he passed to wonder what his rush was for. He practically fell down the stairs to the lower deck, and called out again, "Captain!"

The man who turned around at the call was tall, broad of shoulder but narrow of face. Despite his position as captain and his rather motley set of clothes-a combination of an Earthen admiral's uniform and other odds and ends-he looked strangely patrician. He did, however, have a rather prominent scarring running through the outer edge of his eyebrow. It was a souvenir of a duel long ago, and the one who gave it to him was doubtlessly no longer among the living. He saw the runner and waited expectantly as he approached. The runner threw a lazy salute to the captain, who nodded for him to continue. "They had a prisoner," he said. " A lad. Says he's the Scion, and that he can prove it. We're bringing him aboard."

"Fine," the captain said, "though I don't believe it, myself. He's probably just another one of those frauds. Most of them don't even know what the Wind Folk looked like…" the captain got a far away look in his eyes, as though remembering something. He shook it off after a moment. "I will see this boy," he said, "and if he should be lying to us, may the spirits have mercy on his soul." He stumped past the runner and headed up to the main deck. "Prepare to hoist the anchor!" he yelled over his shoulder. If he knew his men, they would have had that ship ransacked for all it was worth by this point.

When he emerged on the deck, he saw the familiar sight of his men moving great stacks of loot. The unfamiliar sight, though, was the boy that stood before him. With his untidy black hair, his faded orange and brown clothes, and the strange blue arrow insignias that seemed to adorn everything he wore, he most certainly had the look of one of the Wind Folk. He was glancing around nervously, and the captain was almost tempted to take pity on him. He held back. There'd be plenty of time for that, he reasoned, after the boy had proven that he really was the Scion. Though the boy looked nervous, he did not cringe in fear as most of their captives did when he approached.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" the captain asked, making sure that his words came out as as much of a snarl as he could muster. The lad nodded. "Then show me who you are—it's only polite."

"My name is Brishen, and I'm—"

"You can tell me who you are all day, boy," the captain cut across from him, "but it'll be your actions that can prove your words. You know who I am because of my actions. Now, prove to me that you really are the Scion." The lad called Brishen nodded again, and slowly backed away from the captain. Even then, the captain noticed something odd. He was calming himself, slowing his breathing. Then, the boy gained a strangely focused and yet faraway look in his eyes, and he dropped into a stance that the captain recognized as that of hydromancy. He wheeled his arms about his head, and suddenly two great snakes of water rose up from the salty sea and leapt spectacularly over the deck, a light drizzle hitting the crew and they passed. As Brishen brought his hands down, a shockwave of air swept across the entire deck, blowing several of the closest men off their feet. The captain drew his cloak tight about him to keep it from billowing wildly. Brishen's shoulders relaxed, his breathing returned to normal, and he looked up expectantly, but with a serenity that the captain hadn't noticed before. The captain looked around.

"Men," he called out. "We have an honored guest! Bring up the best rum we got, and get those grubby cooks to work!" A cheer rang out across the deck of the ship, and Brishen felt a glowing sensation. Even pirates could be moved by his Scion status. The captain patted Brishen on the shoulder, and there was a smile on his scarred and weathered face that screamed, "This is too good to be true."

"We've been waiting for you a long time, lad," the captain said to him. "Welcome aboard the _Blue Spirit._"

* * *

The wreckage was bad, very bad. That much, Diego could see even from the distance. His steed carefully navigated the rocky shore beneath their feet, and he saw Lucrezzia sitting atop her own beast. Unlike the horses from Diego's own native land, this thing was huge, almost as big and looming as the Scion's sky bison. From what Diego could see, it had no eyes, and instead its head was dominated by a long snout with a star-shaped nose and a long, lolling tongue that was couched between small but sharp teeth. Diego had heard of such creatures before, though he knew not their name. They were said to be native to the islands in the south seas, where Lucrezzia had claimed to be from. Certainly, this added credence to her story. He approached, and she gestured to the wreckage.

"Dominion ship, destroyed last night in a pirate raid," she said. "My sources tell me the Scion was aboard when it happened, though they are conflicted as to whether he died last night or was taken captive by the raiders in question." Diego felt rage and anxiety war within him. If the Scion was dead, so was his one hope of redemption unless he felt like eradicating the entire Water Tribe.

"Is there any way you can track him on that ship?" he asked her.

"If I had something that belonged to him, I could have my shirshu sniff him out," Lucrezzia said. Diego bit his lip. That would be a problem, if the Scion had sunk to the bottom of the harbor. He cast his eyes over the wreckage again, and something caught his eye. In the slowly-sinking metal hulk, he saw something familiar floating in the water. He squinted, then blinked, just to make sure he was looking at what he thought he was looking at. He grinned.

"I think I have something."

* * *

Hector was heaved bodily aboard the deck of the _Iron Fist_ by an anxious crew that did not wish to incur the wrath of their commander. No one dared ask what happened to him; they had received early word that he would be returning with the Scion, and yet he came in a barely seaworthy escape boat, one that he occupied alone. Some whispered notions to each other that would have found them flash-fried in an instant by the count's rage if he were to hear them spoken aloud. At long last, it was Felipe, one of the vice admirals of the fleet, who had the courage to speak.

"Count," he said, dropping to his knee in reverence, "We are pleased to see that you have returned to us. But we must know—what has become of your retinue, and the Scion?" Hector stared at him balefully for a moment, and immediately, Felipe's eyes widened as he knew what was coming.

The flames engulfed his body, their roar drowning out even his screams. They twisted and stabbed inward, ravenously eating at what had once been an exemplary officer of the Dominion armada. When Count Hector finally lowered his hand, all that was left of Felipe were the burned-out remains of once-beautiful armor and charred, blackened bones. "We head north!" Hector called out, before stalking off to his quarters. He could not be prevailed upon to say any more.


	21. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

The strings of Celia's lute hummed mournfully as the sun started to break over the horizon. She looked at the dawning light with fatigued and bleary eyes. She and Jack had been driving Appa to fly through the night to return to the Great Divide, fully expecting to find Brishen the prisoner of honor there. They had been surprised to learn, however, that he had almost immediately been whisked away by a visiting noble of the Dominion, headed for a harbor town to the east. And so, they had immediately taken off, flying utter east as fast as they could. Now, as they flew directly toward the rising sun, Celia could see the tiny specks that she knew would suddenly grow into a whole town once they had neared. A small part of her heart allowed hope to seep into her body, and she felt warmed, both by it and the dawn.

Reaching over, she gently nudged Jack's sleeping form, and immediately her older brother sat bolt upright, his hand flying to his dirk. It took a moment for him to realize his surroundings, and he relaxed. He squinted in the sudden light of the sun, then turned to her. "Are we close?" he asked. She nodded, but said nothing else, her fingers idly toying with her lute. She had refused to sleep that night, and it had been the thing she occupied herself with in the wee hours of the night. Certainly, it was better for her than worrying. She had played for herself every ballad, chanson, and song that she knew, and once she had finished all of those she had started all over again, her fingers gingerly dancing across the fretboard and open strings and plucking into the lonely night.

Jack was starting to become more alert. "We'll land just outside of town," he said, "and walk in. Keep a low profile, and—"

"I know." Celia cut him off, but it wasn't out of rudeness. Jack understood. In their spirits, now was not the time for talking, for laying out strategy. He yearned to just let loose and start talking Celia's ear off. He'd always been the affable one in the family, despite the aloofness he had had to maintain in the village. But he understood that his sister needed something right now, and his words were not that thing. So instead, he patted her on the shoulder reassuringly and said nothing at all.

Appa started to dip lower into the sky, and the two felt the earth rushing up to meet them. The air was thicker, more oppressive, and everywhere it smelled of grass and conifer. Warily, the two slid down Appa's proffered tail and onto solid ground. They were tired and starting to wear thin, but they had far more important things than sleep. As far as they were concerned, the world's future now rested on them.

* * *

Brishen's groggy awakening reminded him of the first night in the Ingwald, and immediately he was put ill at ease. But the gentle rocking of the floor beneath him reminded him of where he was, and he looked around. Everywhere, he saw blue. He couldn't see where the sea ended and the sky began. The sun was low in the sky; it was fairly early in the morning. He was strewn across the crow's nest haphazardly, his limbs a tangle in the small space. The young wanderer lurched to his feet, and surveyed what was happening on the deck below.

The sailors were hustling about, conducting their duties as normal. There was yelling, swearing, and laughter, and in spite of his headache, Brishen smiled. This crowd was coarse, but they were doing what they loved, and as a free spirit Brishen could appreciate that. One of them noticed he was awake, and called up to him. "Scion!" he yelled. "You're up!" Other men started to notice, and pointed at him. Deciding that he should at least be social so early in the morning, Brishen straightened up and then leapt from the crow's nest, a cushion of air slowing his fall and causing his clothes to billow softly. His feet landed gingerly, and he couldn't suppress a grin.

In the daytime, the pirates seemed a good deal less fearsome. Putting a human face on them had helped last night, but seeing them in the clear light put Brishen at ease more than anything else. Even the ship seemed to be less intimidating. The blue sails were no longer menacing, but instead made the ship look as though it were some extension of both sea and sky. Nonetheless, he never lost sight of the fact that these men were still pirates, and in particular these men were the crew of one of the most feared ships on the sea. They seemed affable enough, but Brishen couldn't imagine what they might have done in the pursuit of profit.

The captain stumped up to Brishen, the crew parting in his path. He had a pipe clenched in his teeth and was regarding Brishen with interest. "Slept well, did you?" he asked breezily. "I expect you would, with all the grog you put away last night." He jerked his head towards the captain's quarters. "Take a walk with me." Despite the tone, Brishen could tell that it wasn't a request. He nodded, and followed the captain's lead across the deck and to the cabin.

The room was surprisingly spacious, filled with artifacts from all over the world. Well-used maps hung from the walls, and complicated navigation equipment lay in disarray on the captain's desk, holding in place a map that was so old that it had turned yellow. Brishen turned his attention next to the various trophies the captain had collected during his long career on the high seas. He saw the skull of what had clearly been a formidable beast, a glittering blue stone that somehow reminded him of the Water Tribe, and more than a few trinkets that looked as though they had been taken from Dominion ships. Despite the light coming in from the windows, last night's candles were still lit.

The captain waded through all of this clutter like an expert, and grabbed a bottle of what looked to be fine Dominion wine. He began pouring into a pair of pewter goblets. "You know, Scion, that your return has been anxiously awaited by the world for a very long time. Yes, the world's hoped for you to emerge from whatever corner you hid in, so you could end all of this mess." Brishen noticed that when he wasn't in the presence of his crew, the captain sounded surprisingly erudite for a man of the sea. He mentioned this to the captain, who just gave a strange half-smile that caused his pipe to bob up and down.

"You're observant," he said. "I talk like this because a long time ago, I was educated at the University of Erdenheim, a student of the bursarial arts." Brishen's eyes widened. The University of Erdenheim was said to be the finest educational institution in the world. Long before the war, students from all of the four nations had come to learn there. Even the Wind Folk, vagrant as they were, had educated men among their number. "I was educated, I got my diploma, and I signed on with a trading company in Reikdorf port. I was the exchequer on a merchant ship, making good gold and living what they told me was a good life."

"What happened, then?" he asked. "How did you come to be a corsair?" His curiosity had gotten the better of him, though he expected the captain would have continued on with his story if Brishen had not asked.

"I tired of the rules, of the bounds that kept me from being a truly free man," the captain said, putting Brishen's goblet down in front of him. "And when I tired of that, I broke away from everything. I left my job, took my gold, and started my new life here on the seas. 'Twas the best decision I ever made." It was an interesting story, but Brishen found it strange that a pirate such as the captain would be so open about his history. Most pirates were reluctant to talk about themselves at all, unless they were boasting about the various deeds they had committed.

"The reason I tell you all this," the captain said, almost as though he'd read Brishen's mind, "is because of what we pirates are facing. In the century that you've been gone, o Scion, the waters have gotten to be unfriendly. The Dominion's tightening the leash. Soon, there won't be room enough for bad men like ourselves to run about at all." He took a long swig from his goblet, and then set it down on the desk, empty. "Things are in a bad way, Scion."

"I can feel your pain," Brishen said. "Pirates like yourself are a dying breed, aren't they?"

"That's one way to look at it." The captain took a long drag from his pipe and puffed out a cloud of smoke vaguely in the shape of a skull.

"Well, from what I understand, I'm all that's left of the Wind Folk. And that's thanks to the Dominion of Fire, as well." The captain nodded grimly, and surveyed Brishen.

"You'll have made some dangerous enemies, lad," he said. "I take it the man who captured you back there was important?"

"He said his name was Hector," Brishen said slowly, trying his best to remember everything his former captor had said. "He's a count or something." The captain's eyes showed a flash of recognition.

"He's a right tough bastard," the captain said. "In charge of the entire campaign against the Earth Kingdoms, and he's got a huge fleet behind him as well. If you could have one man against you, he's the worst you could have."

"Well, there's more than one," Brishen said. "I was attacked by Prince Diego almost as soon as I awoke, and he managed to track me to Katarin Island, down south."

"The prince will be trouble, too," the captain nodded, turning his pipe over and shaking some ash out of it. "Said to be the best sword in the Dominion." From Brishen's two duels with Diego, he had to agree that the prince was certainly as skilled as his reputation had boasted.

"Captain," he said, "I don't suppose there's any chance I could go through what you plundered last night, is there?" The captain raised his eyebrow.

"And why would you be wanting to do that?" he asked, a tinge of his lowbrow speak returning to his voice.

"I want to see if my staff is in your hold. I need to get to the Northern Water Tribe immediately, so I can master the art of hydromancy." The captain re-lit his pipe, and nodded.

"I'll have one of the boys take you down to the hold."

* * *

"Pirates," Jack said dejectedly as they walked back uphill, towards a waiting Appa and Momo. "Of course there would be pirates…" He felt angry enough to hit something. It seemed as though fate was conspiring to keep Brishen away from them. Every time they managed to get a lead, something took him further and further away. Now, Brishen was out at sea, and that was a vast area, too vast for them to comb it. Appa could not fly across the entire ocean, and the further they flew the more likely they were to run afoul of a Dominion flotilla. The situation wasn't good.

"Where do you think they could be headed?" Celia asked. Jack shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "But it's a ship, it has to make berth somewhere." He wracked his brains, panning through all of his knowledge about seafaring and what waypoints were most likely. "The most obvious place would be Remas," Jack said, "but that's well within Dominion waters, and we don't know the secret sea routes that they would to reach that place. But I don't think that they're going there," he added.

"You don't?"

"At least, I hope not," Jack continued. "I think that they would stop off somewhere closer, probably an out-of-the-way island, or else a hidden harbor."

Celia started fussing about with one of their maps. "Where do you think those might be?" she asked.

"Well, that's the problem," Jack answered wryly. "An out-of-the-way island is going to be out of the way, and a hidden harbor…" He sighed. His sarcasm wasn't going to make this any easier. They were approaching Appa, who raised his head and grunted in recognition when he noticed them. Jack patted Appa's flank as he started to climb aboard. "Sorry, Appa, no luck today," he sighed. He settled down in the saddle, and immediately the urge to catch up on his sleep welled up and threatened to knock him out then and there. Celia settled in on the other side of the saddle. "Yip yip," Jack called lazily, and with a grunt, Appa took off. The sudden jolt startled Momo awake, and the lemur looked around warily before slowly settling back into sleep. Jack reached over and tugged the map away from Celia, spreading it out on the saddle.

"I think our best bet is to look up and down the coastline for a harbor," he said. "But that will take a while, and there are some harbors so well-disguised by the land that we would have to land and take a look for ourselves. That will take even more time." He looked up and saw that Celia wasn't even looking at him. She appeared to be lost in thought, even as her hands worked to tune her lute. Suddenly, she sat up and crawled over to Appa's head while Jack watched.

"Appa," she said softly, speaking directly into his ear, "I know how special Brishen was to you, and how special you are to Brishen. I think you two have a special bond, and I want you to find Brishen for us. Can you do that?" Appa grunted in response, but neither Celia nor Jack had any idea if Appa was responding to her or not. Jack threw a skeptical glance to Celia.

"Seriously?"

"The two really did have a connection, something deeper than just master and pet or friendship," Celia said defensively. "And since Brishen's the Scion, he's the living bridge between our world and the Spirit Realm. I think it's better than just combing the coastline for something that might not be there," she added. Jack was about to protest, but bit back his words. He sighed, and then nodded.

"All right," he said. "We'll try things this way."

Appa started to veer left, heading out for the open sea, the hopes of Jack and Celia resting on his back and in his mind.


	22. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

The sheer amount of treasure in the _Blue Spirit_'s hold told Brishen that, among other things, the raid in which they had rescued him had hardly been their first on the voyage. The hold was bursting with loot, and most of it looked as though it had been captured from Dominion ships, but here and there amongst the piles of swag Brishen saw things that looked as though they were of Earthen manufacture. The pirate who was accompanying him down, a dour man by the name of Jean Luc, held a lantern aloft for Brishen to see. The firelight made all the gold and other fineries glitter brightly in the darkness of the hold, and Brishen began to fully comprehend just how much wealth the pirates had stashed away here, and how much more they doubtlessly had in their hoard at their port of call.

"Most of last night's stuff is over there," Jean Luc said in his strange, slurred accent. It didn't sound like the speech of any place Brishen had ever been to, and as one of the Wind Folk he had wandered all over the world. Brishen followed the lantern light over to a large pile of plunder, and immediately began digging through it. However, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was not going to find what he wanted. He shifted aside a small pile of discarded Dominion weapons and peeled back a few silken banners to see the bottom of the pile, and his shoulders slumped as he saw his staff was not there. He stood up and sighed. He felt as though his hand had been cut off. That staff was more than just a tool; it had been part of him, and more importantly it had been one of the few links to his old culture that he had had left.

"It's not here," he said sadly as he walked past Jean Luc. Jean Luc looked to the pile of unmolested treasure, and then to Brishen, and then back to the treasure. He scratched his head, perplexed.

"You ain't taking anything?" he asked, as though he couldn't comprehend the idea of someone walking away from a mound of treasure empty-handed. Brishen just shook his head, and plodded up the stairs to the upper deck. He was despondent. He could tell from the position of the sun that they weren't heading north, and yet he had no way to leave their ship. They weren't able to stop in any ports, either; pirates would not be welcome, regardless of who they targeted. Until the _Blue Spirit_ stopped off to deposit its latest load of plunder, it seemed that Brishen was stuck on board.

* * *

The _Burning Blade_ was headed northwest, at least according to the compass in the navigator's station. It was moving as Lucrezzia dictated, and she was dictating as her beast, her pet shirshu, picked up the trail. Once Prince Diego had managed to find something of the Scion's for the beast to use to take hold of the scent, they had sped off in renewed pursuit of his target. Now, the shirshu impatiently prowled the tiny space of the frontmost deck, its long digging claws clacking against the iron floor in an ominous fashion. The crew was too scared to approach it, and it seemed to be stayed only by Lucrezzia's whip. Diego and Inigo were the only two who did not fear it; Diego, because he felt that fearing the shirshu was beneath him, and Inigo because he had doubtlessly encountered similar beasts in his long career as a general.

Inigo stroked his beard as he regarded the beast. "You know, Prince Diego," he said, "the bounty hunter seems oddly at home here, among the crew." Diego shrugged, but he knew it was true. In the few days that Lucrezzia had been aboard, she had effortlessly taken to life at sea. Diego supposed that it was because she had grown up on Remas, the last great pirate stronghold in the world's waters. "And I would guess she knows how to handle herself in a fight," Inigo continued. "She will be useful when we find the Scion, not just for finding him." Diego turned to his uncle.

"What do you mean by that, exactly?" Inigo smirked, but there was a slight sheepishness in his face.

"I think we should ask her to stay on as a member of our crew on a more permanent basis," he said in measured tones. There was almost a suggestion of laughter beneath his voice, but Diego failed to see the humor.

"There will be no need," Diego said shortly. "After this business is over with, I will have the Scion, and then I won't need a crew anymore. I'll be able to return home."

"Do not be so sure of anything, Prince Diego," his uncle said. Diego rounded on Inigo.

"Are you doubting me?" he asked, his temper flaring up. Inigo easily kept his cool.

"Of course not. But destiny is a funny thing…" before he could dispense any more of his hard-earned wisdom, Diego stalked off, annoyance veritably radiating from every part of him. Inigo took it all in stride. His nephew would be the way he was, and at this stage in his life he was too stubborn to realize that there might be anything he could change about himself. Well, no matter, he rationalized; his nephew was not a fool. He would learn, he would grow, and he would change. And in the meantime, he thought with a wan smile, there was the lovely Lucrezzia Luccini.

He climbed down the iron staircase to the lower deck, where the shirshu still paced impatiently. At his approach, Lucrezzia turned suddenly, hand still on her whip, but instead of the serious prince, she found herself confronted by the regal but faded form of the aging general, a knowing half-smile on his face as his calloused fingers played with strands of his short beard.

"You can relax," he said jovially. "I am not here to give you marching orders or anything of the sort." The mercenary looked to him for a moment, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes at him. Even she, in her freebooter circles, had heard of the exploits of the legendary General Inigo, the Lion of Fire. His presence was annoying her now, as was his pleasant demeanor, but she had a measure of respect for a man who had done so many legendary things in his glory days.

"Then what are you here for?" she asked tersely. She decided she would be polite enough to respond, but hoped that her tone would signify to him that she wasn't interested in conversation. But even as she spoke, she had a feeling that the old man would be unperturbed.

"I merely came to admire your shirshu," Inigo said, chipper as ever. "They're magnificent beasts, if rare. I've only seen a few in my long years of travel, and never have I seen one that was so well-trained before." There was a disarming quality to the flowery language he used. Coming from a lesser man, Lucrezzia decided, it would have come across as clumsy and stilted, but Inigo had enough respectability about him.

"I've had it since birth." She cracked her whip in the air loudly, and immediately the shirshu stopped pacing for a moment. "And I've raised it well," she continued. After a moments' calm, the beast put its head back down and continued to pace impatiently. "It doesn't like being cooped up on this ship," she said. "I would have thought that the Fire Lord could provide his own son with a craft more impressive than this one."

"The relationship between my nephew and my brother is a very complicated one," Inigo said. It was a political answer, one that was meant to address a question without satisfying it, and Lucrezzia took it as such. "Nonetheless, your beast has proved valuable in providing our bearings." Lucrezzia had to raise her eyebrow at that.

"Not that I doubt my shirshu's abilities," she said, "but how exactly do you know that?" Inigo chuckled slightly, and his belly shook.

"When you get to be my age," he said, "and do some of the things that I've done…you pick these things up." Continuing to chuckle to himself, his eyes glittered and he turned around and started walking back to the depths of the _Blade_, doubtlessly to find something to indulge himself in. Lucrezzia watched him go.

"What a strange man," she muttered to herself, before turning her attention back to her shirshu. It had stopped pacing, and was now facing out across the prow, sniffing intently at the sea. She noticed that its head was pointed vaguely back in the direction of the mainland. That meant it was onto something new and fresh. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she pulled out a small chunk of dried meat. Not enough to feed her shirshu, but enough to be a decent treat or reward. She slid it along the deck floor, and it skidded to a halt between the shirshu's front claws. Without even looking down, its long pink tongue flitted in and out, and where the meat had been, there was now just a small glob of spittle that was bubbling slightly. With that, she turned and headed for the bridge. She would have news for the _Blade_'s navigator.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Scion, but on this matter I cannot help you," the captain said, shaking his head. Brishen felt his heart sink.

"But captain," he protested, "I need to get to the Northern Water Tribe as soon as possible. I understand your need to make berth and to let the crew rest, I really do. But the world's at stake, and without mastery of hydromancy I stand no chance of quenching the fires of war." Brishen was particularly proud of his eloquence, and it occurred to him that the captain was perhaps the one man on the ship who was able to fully appreciate it.

"The Northern Water Tribe's waters are far from friendly to us, Scion," the captain said, and Brishen could tell his patience was being tested slightly. "There's a reason why we chiefly ply waters controlled by the Dominion and the Earth Kingdoms. Here, we are the best ship on the sea, and the best crew. But there are none in the world who can match the seamanship of the Water Tribes. They would not look kindly upon us, and they would not stop to ask questions." The logic's weight was crushing on Brishen's shoulders. But he had to be persistent.

"If you can't take me to the Northern Water Tribe," he asked, "how far north could you take me?" The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully, and then flattened out the map on his desk and pointed at a spot on the Earthen coast. It was surrounded by a dense forest, and it looked as though the waters were rocky.

"That'll be about as far north as we'll go, leastwise on this voyage," the captain said, and Brishen could detect a small note of apology in his voice. "The harbor there is well-hidden, and difficult to navigate. The _Spirit_ has a narrow keel, far more narrow than that of most ships. Means she cuts through the water with ease, and she's the fastest ship there is. But it also means that she can navigate tough spots like those rocks more easily." Brishen bit his lip hesitantly. It wasn't nearly as far north as he would have liked to go, and he had no earthly clue as to what he'd do once he was off the _Spirit_. Nonetheless, it seemed to be his only option. The sound of feet running shook him out of his reverie.

"Cap'n!" a gruff voice called. "We got smoke on our aft horizon, and it's gaining!" The captain wheeled around immediately, and Brishen saw that the educated man was gone, replaced by the harsh man of the sea. He stumped off in the direction of the main deck, and Brishen followed him. He watched as the captain strode out onto that deck in the exact same manner in which a king would stride into his throne room, teeming with waiting subjects.

"Lower the sails!" he called out, his voice ringing like a clarion call. "We've got Dominion at our backs, let's loose them!" Immediately, every man set to work with surprising precision for a pirate. Brishen could see that this was a well-practiced drill for them. But he watched as the crew cast their eyes back the way they came, and sure enough, black smoke was billowing off in the distance. Brishen's keen eyes could pick out the vague outline of a Dominion ship. He turned his eyes back to the majestically falling blue sails, but all ready he could see the problem. They had a significant headwind. The small keel and huge sails were meant to make the _Blue Spirit_ a fast ship, but in a headwind she was just as slow as any other vessel, while the accursed fire-spitting machines of the Dominion worked without wind.

"Scion!" the captain called out. "Time to prove your worth!" Immediately, Brishen knew what he had to do. He leapt up onto one of the higher railings, gaining an unsure footing, but a footing nonetheless. He began to focus his concentration on the winds around him, and began to rotate his arms in a way that was so familiar to him that now it was as close to second nature as walking. His breathing slowed down as he became at ease, and he began to use aeromancy to direct wind into the mighty main sail of the _Blue Spirit_. Immediately, the ship lurched noticeably as his aeromancy hit the sail, and they began to pick up speed in the water, the very rudiments of a wake starting to form behind them. He was only able to affect one sail at a time, so they were not traveling at maximum speed, but his hope was to prolong the chase for as long as they could. There was no way he'd let himself be taken prisoner again.

Not without a fight.

Celia draped her head on the side of Appa's saddle, Momo curled up in a warm heap by her leg. She breathed in the heady mix of sea fumes and low-level clouds, and sighed. But for some reason, she felt a strange feeling as she was breathing. Something wasn't quite right, and after a moment, she had figured it out. A great smile broke across her face. "We're getting somewhere!" Celia cried out happily, sitting up. Jack, across the saddle from her, looked up from his slumped posture quizzically. He looked around.

"How can you tell?" he asked her. "There's just sky and sea in every direction. Not a single ship. Appa's got us over the sea, which is good and all, but we don't even know if we're going the right way."

"Jack," Celia said slyly, "you want to be a great sailor someday, don't you?" Jack rolled his eyes. Of course he did. Just as she wouldn't stop talking about her dreams of becoming a troubadour someday, so did Jack go on about his hopes of one day commanding a ship of his own.

"Yes," he said, a bite of impatience in his voice. Celia just smiled a little more widely.

"What's the wind doing right now?" This made Jack stop to think. Carefully, he licked his fingertip and then stuck it into the air. There was a strange swirl to the current, as though the main air currents were somehow being resisted, maybe even countered by another current. It was a faint feeling, but Jack could feel it. Comprehension began to dawn on his face.

"There's a countercurrent," he said softly. "A current that's not supposed to be there." They were both on the same page now. There was but one force left in the world that could do anything that would cause such ripples in the air. Jack immediately scrambled out of the saddle and came to sit astride Appa's neck, in Brishen's customary position. He took the reins in his hands, and shook them.

"Appa, yip yip!" he called. "Follow the wind!"


	23. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

The wind had picked up. Diego could feel it on his face, and his black hair fluttered about his ears. He reached for his telescope and extended it before holding it up to his eye. In the distance, he could see the vague outline of sails on the horizon. After a moment, he realized that it was so hard to see them because the sails, like the clear sky above and the sea all around them, were blue. Redoubling his focus, he saw that the main sail was swollen with wind, despite the fact that the ship was sailing into a headwind. That alone was cause for suspicion, and in the pit of his stomach Diego knew how they were doing that.

In the current conditions, the _Blade_ would eventually overtake the ship, Diego thought. He would have the engineers throw more fuel into the fire, and they would power through the currents and wind. He turned from his observation spot to go and give the engineers their marching orders, as well as tell his troops to prepare for combat. But as he climbed down the ladder, he saw his uncle standing at the bottom, his hands folded behind his back. "Well?" Inigo asked.

"I see a ship on the horizon," Diego said, a triumphant smile on his face. "They have a breeze at their back, even though they're sailing into the wind. That means they have the Scion on board, and they're putting him to good use." He slid his telescope shut and pushed it back into his belt. "I'm going to take advantage of this time to catch up with them." He made to move past Inigo, but his uncle held up a hand. Annoyed, Diego crossed his arms and waited to hear what the old man had to say.

"That is not a bad plan, Prince Diego," he began evenly. "But remember, these are pirates, and they were able to trounce even Hector's trained men. They will be very good at boarding enemy ships and dealing with boarders. The sea is where they are at their strongest." He paused, as though expecting Diego to ask him what he should do instead, but Diego just stared until Inigo continued. "Hang back, but keep tracking their progress," Inigo suggested. "Wait for them to go to ground. There, your men will have the advantage, not them. That will be your best chance to capture the Scion." Diego turned this suggestion over in his head. As much as he wanted to have the Scion brought before him in chains as soon as possible, his uncle's suggestion did make a good amount of sense. At last, Diego nodded.

"Very well. Send out a tracking bird," Diego said. Inigo smiled and nodded.

"A wise choice, Prince Diego." He turned to go, and the prince let him. He started to head to his quarters to retrieve his scent source. He wanted to refresh Lucrezzia's shirshu on what the Scion smelled like. If he was going to go ahead with his uncle's plan, he didn't want for there to be any chance that he could lose the Scion on the high seas. He walked past the usual saluting aids without much acknowledgment other than a regal nod, and at long last found his way to his own room. He slid open the door, and saw it leaning in the corner of the champer. He walked over, picked it up, and felt its weight in his hands. The staff was of the finest design, he could see. It had been carved carefully by hand, and there were various strange glyphs that he knew to be of the Wind Folk all across its haft. He had yet to figure out how to deploy its glider wings, but he would find out soon enough.

Taking the staff, he headed back out to the main deck so he could give the shirshu another sniff.

* * *

Brishen risked a look behind him and saw that the dark plume of smoke seemed to be shrinking into the distance. Yells from below him confirmed it, and yet still the pirates redoubled their efforts to lose their would-be pursuers anyway. Knowing this was far from the time where he could relax, Brishen drew his breath inward before unleashing ten times that into the readily-receiving sail. He took another look around. He was starting to get a little tired from such constant application of aeromancy, but at least he could see that his efforts were having an effect. With its narrow keel and his high, wide sails, the _Blue Spirit_ was built for speed above all else, so that even the slightest gust would push them further and faster than it did most ships. Of course, the _Spirit _had to sacrifice some cargo room and firepower for this additional speed, but to a vagrant like Brishen this made a good deal of sense.

He could feel the winds starting to change around them. It wasn't drastic, but the headwind was lessening and he could feel the resistance against his efforts starting to drop off as they kept powering through the air current. He supposed that at this point, he might as well help them the whole way. With a potential pursuer, the pirates would head for the safest ground that they knew, their chosen secret haven. From what Brishen could tell, they were heading further out to sea. That meant an island. Probably not one he'd heard of, either.

"Scion!" the captain was standing below him, his neck craned up. "How are you faring up there?" Brishen nodded down to him.

"I can hold up for a while yet!" he called down. "I think we're losing them!"

"The wind's shifting!," the captain yelled back. "At ease!" Gratefully, Brishen let himself relax, and then leapt down to the main deck, the air slowing his fall. The crew were hard at work, but those that could threw him appreciative glances. He supposed that he had helped them out of a real tight spot. The captain eyed him. "We're in your debt for that bit of help, Scion," he said appreciatively. "And it's a debt all us are willing to pay. Right, lads?" he added. A chorus of approval answered him. "With the headwind fading, we can make good time back to our port of call," the captain said. "We know these here currents as well as you might know the backroads of the world, wanderer that you are."

"How far out are we?" Brishen asked. As far as he could tell, there was only sea in every direction.

"If my bearings are right," the captain replied breezily, "and they always are…we can reach our home port before sundown." Brishen looked up in the sky, and saw the sun getting close to its midday apex. That meant they still had a fair bit of sailing to do, but the thought of being on solid ground for the first time in days meant to him that it would be a welcome wait. He looked back again, and saw that the black smoke had entirely disappeared from their rear. The wind was starting to really shift in their favor, and beneath his feet the _Blue Spirit_ was picking up speed. But Brishen could still not shake off the feeling that they were being followed.

* * *

"Hoist the sails and run out the sweeps!" bellowed the captain. At once, crewmen began to withdraw the sails, furling them up like banners until the masts looked bare. To Brishen, who was so used to seeing the _Blue Spirit_ in full regalia, it seemed to him that the ship was almost gutted of some of its majesty. The great blue sails were much like a regal cloak for it, and with them gone the ship now looked like a hulk that was missing something dear and vital. He rested his head on the railing, and to his surprise he saw motion from the lower decks. Small hatches he hadn't noticed before opened themselves, and a set of oars, extending across the broadside of the ship from one tip to the other, slowly extended themselves into the water. It dawned on Brishen that this was what the captain had meant by "the sweeps".

He saw the rocks ahead, and in the darkness he could see the low outline of the island looming beyond the dangerous rocks. It was there that they would make berth, once they got past the rocks. The captain had proudly boasted of them as the perfect defense against any of their many enemies, as the currents and rocks were so tricky that only an experienced member of the crew of the _Spirit_ would be able to navigate them at all, particularly at night. "All gunners on deck!" the captain called out, as Brishen heard the crash of the oars stroking at the water. He turned as he heard heavy footsteps, and saw a small group of men, all barefoot, emerging from the lower deck. Brishen could tell from their heavy footsteps, their gait, and their bare feet that they were geomancers. Doubtlessly, they were the chief armament of the ship.

They assembled in fairly neat lines on either side of the ship, and as one dropped into a geomancy stance and began to push. Brishen took note of how they were standing. Compared to hydromancy and aeromancy, they seemed far more stalwart and confrontational than aeromancy's ever shifting nature or hydromancy's soft and fluid movements. He watched as they pushed outward, almost violently, and he heard a rumbling noise followed by the sound of large amounts of water sloshing wildly. Looking ahead, he saw that the jagged rocks were shifting in their places, grinding back and forth to create a wide enough avenue for the _Blue Spirit_ to pass through. He looked to the captain, who smirked wanly.

"Just because we can navigate these rocks, doesn't mean we always have to." In the calm waters, the anchor splashed loudly in stark contrast to the relatively quiet atmosphere of the cove. The crew began unloading things into the boats, and the first two vessels launched themselves towards the waiting shoreline. Brishen looked around awkwardly. Apparently, the crewmembers all had pre-arranged boats that they were to take, but Brishen was far from a member of the crew. Instead, he sidled into the nearest boat. The pirates made room for him, but he found himself unable to move underneath all the loot that was piled into the boat on top of them. Noting that the boat was riding uncomfortably low in the water, Brishen felt himself moving forward as the oarsman started rowing.

"Let me help," Brishen offered. He resisted the urge to stand up, knowing it would rock the boat. Being careful to not hit anything with his arms, he began to pull on the water in front of them, and the water responded to his hydromancy. It became visibly faster, and in moments the prow of the boat had hit the sandy shore. Immediately, the pirates gathered great armfuls of plunder and waded out of the shallows and onto the wave-washed beach. Brishen followed suit, grabbing some loot and leaping over the side of the boat and into the tide. He plodded onto the beach, his greaves made heavy and swollen by salt water. Following the corsairs around him, he headed off in the direction of what was doubtlessly their hoard.

The walls of the cave glittered in every direction with gold. With all the torches lit, the flickering firelight caused the rocks to shimmer with the reflection of untold stolen riches thought lost to the sea. Brishen's jaw dropped as he saw how much treasure the pirates had hoarded away. Surely, he thought, with those kinds of riches, the crew could start up their own kingdom! He dumped his sundries into a random pile of riches, and then took a look around the cave, amazed. One of the pirates behind him smirked and chuckled slightly.

"It's quite the sight to see, innit?" he asked. He clapped Brishen on the shoulder, and headed off to go count his individual share of the treasure. Other pirates were settling down to do just that, but at that moment the captain entered with the last of the pirates that weren't left behind to guard the _Blue Spirit_. Everyone looked to him for a moment, and then went back to their counting as one. Brishen figured that they had expected him to address them all, but since it was readily apparent that he was content to get himself a good meal first, they didn't pay him a second mind. Brishen looked around one more time. He had no treasure of his own to count. That in mind, he made his way over to the captain so he could join the man for dinner.

* * *

The sun was almost completely below the horizon, but even in the low light Celia and Jack could just make out the island below them. They saw the outline of the ship moored just inside the harbor, beyond a seemingly impassable field of jagged and dangerous rocks. Jack raised his eyebrow. These pirates had to be truly impressive seafarers if they could navigate that field, he thought. As a young man in the Water Tribe, knowing the ways of the sea was not just expected, it was necessary. But these were men who had learned it themselves, without every facet of their lives being geared towards it. Jack had a certain respect for men like that. Nonetheless, they were here on a rescue mission, to snatch from them what was doubtlessly their greatest plunder yet: the Scion.

As quietly as possible, Appa landed on the beach. His great weight still meant that there was a sizeable _thud_, even with the sand. Nonetheless, it was as stealthy an entrance as they could hope for. Jack unsheathed his dirk, and he heard the sound of rushing water and knew that Celia was warming up her hydromantic skills. He leapt over the side of the saddle and landed on the soft sand, bending his knees carefully to avoid the impact. He looked around. Everything seemed to be going all right.

"Oy! Who're you?" Jack cursed. Of course they would leave crewmen on the ship, Jack berated himself. Why hadn't he thought of that? He should have sent Celia ahead to disable them with her hydromancy before he landed on the beach at sunset with a gigantic white flying bison. Well, he had no choice now. He could see the outlines of pirates jumping down from the ship and into the shallows, and the sloshing sound of water meant that they were coming right for him.

"Give us the Scion!" Jack called out threateningly, but he could hear the soft hum of steel being drawn from its sheath. From what Jack could see, there were six of them, all running at him and his sister. Taking into account the countless years of experience that these men had had in the art of killing, the odds were not good for the two Water Tribe youths. Suddenly, he heard the sloshing stop and it was replaced by screams of confusion. The air felt colder, and Celia was taking up a position beside her brother.

"I froze the tide," she said, "but it won't last for long." Jack nodded grimly, and held his dirk to the throat of one of the frozen pirates, who was encased up to his shoulders in rapidly-melting ice.

"I'm going to ask you once," he said dangerously. "Where is the Scion?" The pirate glared at him, spat on his blade, and continued to glare. But then, a toothy smile cracked across his face, the kind that a hunter might have at seeing his quarry fall into a trap. The pirate's eyes were no longer on Jack, but on what was behind him. A sinking feeling gnawing at him, Jack turned around. Pirates were pouring out of the cave and creating a great ring around the two of them. Jack bit his lip, and he and Celia moved closer to each other, back to back.

"You have a lot of water?" Jack asked.

"I've got the sea," Celia said confidently. "How's your blade?" Jack ran his thumb across the edge, and a tiny red bead of blood appeared on it.

"Sharp as always," he said. He dropped into a careful guard stance.

"For Brishen," he whispered, before lowering his blade and charging...


	24. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

Brishen dug into his chicken leg hungrily. It was cold and perhaps a little bland, but it was hearty and it felt good to have something in his stomach. He took a long swig out of a flagon of rum to wash it down, and felt that nice burning sensation all the way down. The captain had been entertaining him with stories of the crew's exploits, and he had repaid the man in kind with the tale of his adventure since he had been freed from the iceberg. Hearing both stories side by side, it was hard for Brishen to decide which tale was more exciting.

There was a clatter behind him, and he turned around. A large gang of the crew had started to venture out of the cave, abandoning their well-earned treasure and food. This, if anything, struck Brishen as odd. He jerked his head back to them. "Captain," he asked, "what are they doing?" The captain looked up, and his face gained a grim quality to it.

"Someone's here what not's supposed to be," he said, standing up and putting his hand on his cutlass. He started for the cave. Brishen was up on his feet and following him before he knew what he was doing. It looked as though his story was about to get a little more exciting.

* * *

Jack made to charge at the waiting cohorts of pirates, but he found himself being held back. "Jack! No!" Celia hissed at him. "Don't charge them, you'll be vulnerable!" Jack gritted his teeth, but calmed himself. She was right, of course. He would have to wait for them to charge him, yes. No point in letting their numbers overwhelm them. He gripped the hilt of his dirk so hard that even in the fading dusk light he could see that his knuckles were white. This was it, his great chance at glory. His way of giving back to the one who was destined to save their world. If there was any time for him to prove his worth and mettle as a warrior, it was now.

"Jack?" came an astonished voice. "Celia?" Before it could register in Jack's mind who had spoken, he heard the sound of water splashing around him as Celia let go of her hydromancy.

"Brishen?" Celia called disbelievingly into the dark, and ran for him. Jack could only watch helplessly as his precious moment was completely shattered. It was filtering now into his brain that Brishen was not the hostage in distress that they had imagined him to be. He was standing right next to the captain, even, and from what Jack could see he didn't appear to be in chains or bound at all. The hug that he and Celia were sharing was evidence enough of that for his eyes.

And then, it filtered into his brain that this was something to be happy about.

"Brishen!" he cried out happily, and rushed over. "You're all right!" He looked the Scion up and down. "The pirates…we thought—"

"They're friends," Brishen assured him. "And they were the ones who saved me from the Dominion. If it wasn't for them, I'd be on my way to the Fire Lord's palace by now."

"What he's saying," Celia said gently, "is put the sword down." Self-consciously, Jack began to sheath his blade again.

"It's a dirk, not a sword," he muttered under his breath. He looked around warily at the pirates, but they all seemed to have relaxed after seeing that he and Celia were friends of the Scion. As the battle-lust was leaving him, he was suddenly very glad he didn't have to fight such a tough crowd. Each man was taller and stronger than he, and armed to the teeth as pirates were wont to be. It didn't help matters, he added mentally, that they were probably far more adept at fighting in the night than he was. How ironic. He had come here to save the Scion, it had been the Scion who had really saved him.

He was well into his thoughts before he realized that everyone else was migrating back towards the cave. Shaking his head and muttering about people telling him these things, he had to run to catch up.

* * *

Diego was prowling the deck of his ship, as was his fashion. Most of the crew had gone to bed, leaving only a skeleton crew to man the _Burning Blade_. This much, Diego could not begrudge them. Tomorrow, no doubt, they would make landfall somewhere, and he wanted his men well-rested for another confrontation with the Scion, and possibly having to deal with vicious pirates. And beyond that, he liked the solitude afforded by the relative lack of crew. It was almost nice to walk down the corridors without every man saluting him when he came within twenty feet. He knew that it was only right; he was, after all, their prince. But nonetheless, the formalities often bored him, if they didn't outright annoy him.

Diego found himself sleeping less and less as his journey wore on. For the first year or so, he had managed to keep at a fairly normal routine, rationalizing that the Scion would find him an easy foe if he were ill-rested. But the longer he was at sea, the more the idea gripped him that he might never succeed. At first, the nagging doubt had been the simple one: what if he never found the Scion, and was doomed to sail until he died or chose to live out his life in ignominious exile? But that doubt had evaporated that one glorious day in the south seas, when he had, completely by chance, managed to emerge right when the Scion was resurrected. To one that was not at all superstitious, such as he, this was very significant. It was tantamount to proof that this was meant to be.

But now, a new and gnawing doubt was starting to emerge within him. Thus far, he had encountered the Scion twice: once at the Southern Water Tribe, and once at Katarin Island. And both times, the Scion and his companions had eluded capture. That much, he stewed over and everyone else knew. But what really perturbed him was how _easily_ the Scion seemed to best him in combat, how simple a matter it had been for him to make his escape. His biggest worry was not that he would never catch his foe; he had been very close, twice. No, Diego's great fear was that he was not good enough to. When he was younger, he had not excelled as quickly in his pyromancy lessons as his father would have liked. He wasn't a poor student; in fact, he was better than most of the students in the class. But the presence of a pyromantic prodigy in their family tree meant that any achievements he made in the art had been overshadowed years before. For that reason, he had thrown himself completely into his fencing.

At first, court rules had been enough for him, but he had quickly mastered those. He had needed something beyond that, something more creative. He took to dueling against soldiers, against mercenaries, even against prisoners. He educated himself on every single facet that he could of the art of the sword, learned how to handle himself in any situation that he could think of where he would need a sword. And yet, against a foe such as the Scion, his greatest skill seemed so useless. The blade was grounded in reality, but the Scion was spiritual beyond his body. Just another way circumstances spat upon him; the greatest swordsman in the Dominion was set against the most powerful elemancer to ever live.

"You're deep in thought." Diego looked up. Lucrezzia was leaning against a railing, looking at him with a slight amount of interest. Diego regarded her, and spoke in the same swaggering yet detached manner that she had adopted.

"Does it matter?" She smirked coyly, but didn't respond. "What are you up for, anyway?" he continued. "Even your beast—"

"Shirshu," Lucrezzia corrected.

"—is sleeping on the front deck."

"If I were asleep, it would mean I was tired, Prince Diego," she replied airily. "And it would besmirch my reputation and name as a tracker if I were ever known to tire." Diego could have rolled his eyes; he had heard similar things from so many other sellswords in the past. She was hardly the first he had ever dealt with. But instead of skepticism, he found that the calm night air instead prompted him to just nod his head and allow her to continue as he somehow knew she would. "I merely ask out of curiosity. You are very different from most of my clients, as I am sure you know."

"Because I'm the crown prince?" he asked, only half facetiously.

"No," she said, sounding almost pleased that he had guessed wrong. "Because unlike every other client, you accompany me to find your target, while the others all sit and wait for me to do the work for them. And for that reason, more than anything else, you are interesting enough to talk to about things other than business." Diego was simultaneously intrigued by her reasoning, and yet at the same time he grated under her manner of examining him, as though he were a particularly interesting insect.

"I'm thinking of the Scion," Diego said with a good degree of finality in his voice. "And I'm imagining how I'm going to capture him tomorrow."

"Oh," Lucrezzia sighed, and Diego detected disappointment in her voice. "I wish you didn't have to lie to me, Prince Diego, but I do understand." She had that coy edge back now. "I will leave you be, and see you in the morning." She stalked off, leaving Diego even more perplexed. It was true that he had been thinking of the Scion, but she had been remarkably perceptive to know that that wasn't the biggest thing on his mind at the moment. Her insight simultaneously unnerved and fascinated him, and he could understand, other than the obvious reason of her beauty, why his uncle wanted to keep her around.

There was a rustle nearby. He called out into the dark. "Who goes there?" In response, all he heard was a throaty croak and he knew what was there. He flexed his fingers, and a small tongue of flame appeared floating above his outstretched palm. He held it up, and the soft firelight cast itself upon the form of a severe-looking black bird with a formidable beak and a surprising size. It was called a raven, and it had been sent out to follow the pirate ship to its port of call. Now it rested on the iron railing, something green clutched within its beak. Reaching out gingerly, Diego took it and examined it. It was a sprig of some kind of plant. That meant there was land fairly nearby.

He closed his fist, and the flame within extinguished itself with a soft _hiss_. He started to stalk off into the darkness after Lucrezzia. He needed to have a word with her…and her shirshu.

* * *

When the sun rose, it found Brishen sitting on the beach just outside the cave, his boots in a heap beside him and his arms around his knees as he stared out to the nigh-impassable rocks. His head was leaned back onto Appa's great flank, and for the first time in days he was relaxing against his companion's warm side. It was as though he'd gone on a great trip and was now returning to the bed that he knew as opposed to the ones that he had made for himself on the road. Certainly, it was more comfortable than the crow's nest. He breathed deeply, and knew the feeling of relaxation.

"I thought you'd be out here." Brishen opened one eye. Celia was there, stretching in the dazzling light of the sun and holding back a yawn behind her smile. He couldn't help but smile widely enough to match her own. She made to sit down next to him, but stopped herself. "You don't mind if I join you, do you?" Brishen shook his head.

"Not at all." She settled down next to him and leaned back against Appa's side as well. Appa grunted in greeting, and then lulled himself back to sleep. "I was just looking at the waves," he said. "Thinking about hydromancy, about the things that you taught me. I never realized how much in common hydromancy had with aeromancy."

"They're definitely the two soft elements," Celia agreed, though she was not sure what else to say. She had never really thought about the similarities between elements. Celia supposed that Brishen had to, as the Scion; after all, he was the only one that was capable of controlling all four. It gave him a unique, if not different, perspective on the way the world worked for them. "I just want you to know, Brishen," she said somewhat abruptly, "that Jack and I are very glad to see you again. I don't think Jack slept at all these past few days that we've been searching for you, and to find you here, not just unharmed, but well taken care of and among friends…" she trailed off, but Brishen seemed to understand what she meant.

"I was worried about you two as well," he said. Both of them wanted to say something else to fill up the awkward silence, but neither of them had anything particularly poignant to say, and neither of them realized that they didn't really have to say much of anything at all. Brishen looked back toward the sky, and saw a silhouette against the rising sun. He raised his arm, pointed. "A bird," he said simply. He strained his eyes to get a closer look at it, but what he saw surprised him. The bird in question was not white, like most seabirds. Quite the opposite, it was a stark black and had a very sinister appearance about it. Immediately, Brishen knew that something was wrong. He felt a nudge on his shoulder. Celia's touch was tinged with fear.

"Look." She pointed to the horizon, and Brishen saw what he had feared would be coming for them. Slowly, he stood himself up and faced the oncoming silhouette of the _Burning Blade_ grimly.

"I'll go get the captain."

* * *

The small boat that rowed out to the rocks contained Brishen, the captain, Jack, Celia, and the boatswain, a man by the name of Gunther. Celia carefully navigated the currents, pushing their boat along with her hydromancy. Brishen and Jack were at the prow, looking out at the three figures that stood ominously upon the rocks before them. The first two, Jack recognized. There was the ever-familiar figure of Prince Diego, his scarred visage tinged with a glint of victory. Next to him, at his shoulder, the old man who always seemed to be accompanying the prince stood with an air of unflappability, calmly sipping something from a porcelain mug. But the third figure, a woman, was one that Jack did not remember seeing before. She was a young woman, perhaps only a few years older than he, and she was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women that Jack had ever seen. She had a look of deadly competence about her, and Jack could see a crossbow pistol and a well-used cutlass hanging from her sash. As they approached, the captain swept off his hat in a mocking manner, making an overly courtly bow to them.

"Welcome, emissaries of the Dominion," he said with facetious grandeur, "to our waters. But as flattered as we are to have your company, we think it would be best if you find another part of the sea to go hunting for treasure in." Diego looked decidedly unamused.

"Look, sea rat," Diego said. "We both know who it is you have in tow with you. Give him to us, and we will leave without harming you or your crew. Otherwise, we'll turn that entire island behind you to glass, and I'll personally smelt every bit of treasure you have on it to ruin whatever worth it might have."

The captain seemed unperturbed. "And if we refuse?" he demanded. Despite the gravity of the situation, Jack had to bite his tongue to stop himself from chuckling. Diego just looked more annoyed.

"Hand over the Scion now," he said. The captain shook his head.

"I think not," he said. "You can't pass through these rocks, not with that great ship you've got there. So, if you excuse us…" Without needing any more bidding, Celia whipped her arms around, causing the boat to make a very sudden about-face turn, one that almost sent Jack over the edge. Brishen began to move his arms, too, and the two of them kicked up a great wake as they started speeding their boat back to shore.

"We'll bring the broadside to bear on them once we get back to the lads," the captain said, looking forward at their destination. Suddenly, a huge bolt of flame arced past them and landed on the beach, exploding brilliantly and sending sparks everywhere. Jack looked behind him. The entire battery of artillery on the _Blade_ was ablaze with the flashes of weapons, and more and more fire blasts started to shoot for the island. Jack reached for his bow and took another look at the foe arrayed before them.

"Looks like they have the same idea."


End file.
